


Avian Amore

by Charname



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alien Taboos, Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Hatoful Boyfriend Fusion, Birds, Crack, Dating, F/M, Humour, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Sex, M/M, Multi, Multiple Endings, Other, Royalty, Schoolboy AU, Student/teacher relationship, Talking Animals, Vampires, dating simulator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:36:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charname/pseuds/Charname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are John Watson, the sole human in a post-apocalyptic world populated almost exclusively by sapient birds. You attend an elite school, date birds, and occasionally get laid. (Hatoful Boyfriend fusion)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Day: A New Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for [a](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21697.html?thread=126814913#t126814913) prompt over at the kink meme. For anyone who hasn’t played Hatoful Boyfriend, I (a) recommend that you do (because it’s awesome), and (b) warn you that it gets pretty messed up at times (and this does too). Since it was a kink meme fill, and I have a rather questionable sense of humour, this fic does get explicit; parts of it will contain comfortingly unrealistic bird/human sex. I'm not sure how well I succeeded at making John a dating sim protagonist and fitting the other characters into their roles, but I gave it my best shot.

You are John Watson. Today is your first day at the newly established **London Elite Day Academy** , an exclusive school for gifted young birds. 

You are a human. You are the only human you have ever met. You have never known the love of a parent, and are only able to attend this exclusive academy on account of scholarship. You have shown incredible giftedness in physical strength, stamina, and clarinet playing.

You tug on the hem of your regulation school uniform. As a human, you obscenely lack a feathery covering to preserve your modesty. Thus you, and only you, are required to wear what historians have decreed is the traditional garment for a school-going human youth. That is: a white, loose, buttoned up shirt; sensible, black, laced shoes with long socks; and a mid-thigh length skirt in the school colours: blue with a small yellow stripe an inch up from the bottom. Something about the uniform feels wrong to you, but at the same time, it also feels very, very right. 

Despite your concern with your outfit, your hunter-gatherer instincts remain strong. You notice the approach of your oldest friend **Mike Stamford** long before he gets close enough to surprise you. 

Mike is a **Socorro Dove**. You were nestmates back at **St. Bartholomew's Tragic Backstory Orphanage**. He is your closest confidant. Even though you are a **Homo Sapiens Sapiens** , Mike has never feared you. You have always been there to protect him. Despite being an orphan, he is not on scholarship. Mike has received support from a **Mysterious Benefactor**.

"Coo-oo!" he greets as he jumps in front of you, "John! John! It's me, Mike! How are you? What have you been doing?"

"I know who you are," you respond, "I've known you since you were hatched. You're the only socorro dove here. You stand out almost as much as I do."

"Yes," he coos, "It's nice having someone else from an extinct species around, isn't it?"

Sometimes Mike could do with being a bit more sensitive, but then, you may not like him as much if he were.

"Are you nervous?" you ask.

"No." He scuffs a claw in the dirt. "Are you?"

"Of course not!" you scoff, "I am the mightiest of hunter-gatherers. Humans were going to school long before birds. And I can throw any bullies out the windows." You flex your muscles at him as he coos appreciatively. 

The bell rings, signaling that class is about to begin.

"Hurry!" Mike coos, flapping a wing to indicate that you should follow him, "We can't be late!"

* * *

You and Mike make it to class right on time. You look around at the assembled faces. There are so many new, exciting birds to meet. This year will surely be unforgettable!

* * *

"Morning class!" a **Rock Dove** calls out from the front of the room, "I am **Professor Lestrade**."

He is the most rocking dove you have ever seen. You can feel your breath catch when he looks at you.

"I will be your teacher this year. I hope you'll all work with me to make our time together as fun and educational as possible."

Seating is arranged. Professor Lestrade's divisions have made sure that nobirdie's sitting beside anybirdie they know. You end up at the back of the classroom between a Victoria Crowned Pigeon and a Hyacinth Macaw. A soft-spoken Lahore sits in the seat ahead of you. Mike is near the front of the class, far too distant for comfort. These will be your peers for the year, so you had best hope to get along with them.

* * *

The first day of school creates a laissez-faire attitude. Your fellow students are sorting their selves out and your teacher appears to be organising mostly on the fly. You turn to your right, to the Hyacinth Macaw that sits beside you, and introduce yourself. 

"I'm-" you start, but he cuts you off. 

"John Watson. Human. Obvious."

"Wow." You blink at him. "How did you-"

The tall bird clicks his beak at you. "Of course I know who you are. The class list included species. Did you think homo sapiens wouldn't stand out?"

"Homo sapiens sapiens," you correct as you make an attempt to subtly find and examine your copy of the class list amongst your papers. 

The macaw flaps his wing at you when he catches you trying to find his name. " **Sherlock Holmes**. **Hyacinth Macaw** and far more sapient than you. I don't need a class list to tell me that you live alone in a cave. You keep a vegetable garden and regularly hunt and kill small mammals. You eat them."

"How did you know?" Even if he's been stalking you, it's impressive that he's managed to escape your notice with plumage like that. 

"It's obvious." Sherlock puffs up. "I can tell you live alone because of your clothes and grooming. You've cleaned them yourself and have no one who cares to inform you that your grooming is inadequate. It's clear that you keep a garden because you have dirt caught under your nails even though the rest of you is very clean, and of course, you're a human. A garden is a reliable source of the type of food you need to survive, but it would have to be supplemented by hunting. You have the muscles and reactions of a hunter and you have teeth," Sherlock says as he stares fascinatedly into your open mouth, "suited for both tearing flesh and grinding plants."

"Oh. Wow. That's really brilliant." You consider his words. "But what do you mean my grooming is inadequate?"

Sherlock gestures toward your face. "You've cleared all the fur on your face except for a patch over your lip. Either it’s too complicated a procedure for you to do it yourself or no one has told you you've missed it."

"That's supposed to be there!" you say, drawing a defensive hand up to your lip, "I'm growing a moustache!"

"Oh," he responds, "Don't."

You turn back to the front, rubbing at your upper lip thoughtfully. Perhaps facial hair is a mistake, especially among birds. Or maybe the mistake is that you haven't grown a beard to match it. 

"He's right," comes a voice from your left, "It doesn't look good at all."

You turn to the **Victoria Crowned Pigeon** who introduces herself as **Irene**. 

"I've never met a human before. Are you all so adventurous in your grooming?"

"No. Most of us are dead."

"What a shame," she says lightly, "Still, if you do make some horrible fashion faux pas, you can pass it off as traditional human grooming."

"That's the bright side of extinction."

The bell rings to signal the beginning of break. You spare a glance over at Mike before you leave the classroom. He appears to be making new friends with his seatmates. It figures that he'd have better luck than you.

* * *

You've heard that the school has a wonderful computer lab filled with all the newest tech. You might as well check it out.

* * *

The computer lab is all but empty when you enter. Rows and rows of computers hum contentedly into the silence. 

The only other occupant of the room, a **Sulphur-crested Cockatoo** , turns to stare at you. 

"Hi!" the cockatoo sings, "I'm **Jim**!"

"John," you reply, looking at the computers. Jim raises his crest in acknowledgement. 

"How did you get in here?" Jim trills.

"I thought it was allowed. The door's open."

"That's not what I meant." Jim laughs at you. 

"Can you show me how to use these?" you ask. Jim looks fully mature, but it wouldn't be the first time you've mistaken a juvenile for an adult. "You are a teacher, right?"

"Librarian, of sorts." Jim ruffles his feathers. "The catalogue's digitised now."

"Take a computer." He hops over. "I'll set you up with a student account."

He leans close as he guides you through creating an account, wings brushing at your arms on occasion. 

"I'm so glad you came," he warbles once you've finished, "So few young creatures have any respect for what I do here. Everybirdie spends their free time outside, flying around in circles. Nobirdie wants to improve their mind anymore." The cockatoo whistles sadly. "I hope you'll come back soon. It gets so lonely."

Mastery of technology is important. It got your ancestors out of caves and into mansions in the past; maybe if you try hard enough it can do the same for you. 

"Sure," you tell him. Interest in technology aside – and there's much you have to learn – something about Jim sets your hunter-gatherer instincts on full alert. Maybe it's the way he stands so close, maybe it's the scent of his feathers, but something – whatever it is – tells you that Jim is a bird to be watched.

* * *

You run into the Lahore on your way back to the classroom. She falls back in a mess of shocked cooing and surprised flapping. 

"I'm sorry!" you cry as you try to help her to her feet. Your hunter-gatherer skills fail you fantastically. You've almost righted her when you tread on one of her long leg feathers and skid down on to the ground yourself, dragging her down again with you. 

More cooing and fluttering ends with her at one side of the corridor and you on the other, you on your feet and her on hers.

"Are you hurt? I'm so sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going and, well, I'm usually far more graceful. Is your leg alright?"

"I'm- yes, it's fine."

"Good. That's good. I'm John."

"John the human," she says softly.

"Yeah."

"You're heavy."

"It's mostly muscle!" you defend yourself, "I'm compact!"

"I didn't mean in a bad way." The **Lahore** bobs her head, "I'm **Molly Hooper**. I sit in front of you."

"I know. I noticed you. Will you let me walk you back to class? I promise not to fall on you again."

Molly coos at you in affirmation. "That sounds nice."

"What were you up to?" you ask as you head back to the classroom at a more sedate pace.

"I'm volunteering at the infirmary." The volume of her voice rises slightly with her enthusiasm. "I like medicine, I think. It's interesting how the body works. I like how all the bits come together, don't you?"

She hesitates after asking the question, her steps slowing.

"Yes." You smile at her. "I like it. A lot of doctors these days don't know much about human bodies, so I need to know the big differences between bird and human medicine in case something goes wrong, but it is interesting."

She coos at you happily as you slip into the classroom and return to your seats.

"I think you'd be a good doctor," she says, right before Professor Lestrade calls for attention, "You're easy to talk to, and that's one of the most important things."

You find yourself smiling at the back of her head while Professor Lestrade starts in on his first lesson. He seems like an entertaining teacher and captures your attention soon enough. This year you're going to be an achiever!

* * *

You return home from school exhausted. It was a good day, but you're grateful for the chance to kick back and relax now. 

You prepare for bed, but despite the comfort of the pile of rags and furs you sleep on, you can't force your mind to stop spinning. 

You pull yourself out of your cave and make your way to the edge of a nearby pond. You stare at your reflection. Are they right? Is that patch of hair over your lip a mistake? Should you even trust fashion advice from classmates of another species?

**▸ Give in to peer pressure and shave your moustache.**  
▹ Rebel against their ignorant avian mockery! Let your moustache grow freely and add a beard out of spite! If they continue to harass you then you can smother them in your facial hair. 

The greatest warriors know which battles are worth fighting. You conform to the aesthetic standards of a bunch of birds and let your facial hair succumb to your blades. Farewell sweet moustache!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intend to post the rest of this fic in a style reminiscent of playthroughs of a game. Every character named will have their chance to be seduced by John, so the paths for each ending will contain selected sections that will appear in multiple routes. I decided to do this so that, even if someone reading the entire fic may want to skip over some easily recognisable repeated sections, someone wanting to read one path but not another could get the full bird-dating experience.


	2. Ending #6: A Scarlet Sunset (Jim's Route)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of those fics where I selected “Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings” because I have no idea where the warnings would start or end. This particular route highlights that “Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings” does not mean that none of them apply.

You wake bright and early. Today is a new day!

You see Mike in the classroom before school begins. It looks like he's talking to one of his seatmates. 

▹ Approach and say hello.  
▹ Wander into his line of sight, and watch to see if he'll call you over, but don't do anything to disturb their conversation.  
 **▸ It looks like he's busy. You don't want to interrupt.**

You're glad Mike is expanding his social circle. You don't want to be clingy. You let him fly free, and make your way over to your own desk. 

Sherlock is already seated when you get there. 

**▸ Greet him.**  
▹ Ignore him. Mourn your fallen moustache. 

"Good morning," you call to him as you sit. 

He looks over at you and clicks his beak in appreciation. "Your grooming has improved."

"Yeah. I decided to wait until I met somebirdie who could appreciate the majesty of a good moustache. It's wasted on you."

"You'll be waiting a while."

"Good taste is hard to find."

"You had meat for breakfast."

"Rabbit and some berries. How did you know? Do I have something in my teeth?"

"You have blood under your nails."

"Brilliant! You are observant."

Sherlock looks as though he's about to respond, but Professor Lestrade captures your attention by calling the class to order.

"I hope you all managed to make at least one new friend yesterday. Now you have the chance to make more! Today you are each going to sign up to participate in whichever club you choose. I'll send around a signup sheet as I'm talking. This year we have the **Student Council** and the **Music Club** , looking for members. We are also looking for **Assistants** for the **Infirmary** , **Computer Library** , and **Classroom**.

You consider what to sign up for as the sheet makes its way around to the back of the classroom. 

**▸ Sign up for something you find interesting.**  
▹ Find a friend and sign up for whatever they signed up for. 

You examine the signup sheet as it lies on your desk. The importance of this decision weighs heavily upon your shoulders.

▹ Student Council  
▹ Music Club  
▹ Infirmary Assistant  
 **▸ Computer Library Assistant**  
▹ Classroom Assistant

You sign up to be the computer library assistant. You know you're not very good with technology, but that only means that you should spend more time learning about it.

* * *

The school day is long, so long, and your hunter-gatherer attention wanders as the hours pass. Even so, you want to do well in at least one subject today. What should you pay the most attention in?

▹ Aerodynamics  
 **▸ Maths**  
▹ Dance

You focus on the contents of Professor Lestrade's lesson and don't let yourself get distracted by the beautiful iridescence of the plumage on his neck even once! It's hard work, but you feel like the knowledge has swollen in your brain by the time the bell rings.

* * *

You rush to the computer library after school. 

"I was so glad to hear it was you!" Jim trills in greeting when he sees you, "I'm sure you'll be a fantastic assistant! These keyboards were made for your hands after all; it must be more effective than pecking at them."

"I don't really know how to use them," you confess, "I'm not good with technology. I live in a cave. But I'll try!"

"No John," he comforts, "that's not a problem at all. It means I get to watch you learn to type. I can't think of anything more fascinating."

"Really?" you ask. The cockatoo seems sincere, but typing has never struck you as at all exciting or important.

"Of course. Your hands are beautiful. Spread them for me."

You raise your hands up and spread them so that he can see. The cockatoo undulates his tail feathers. 

"Good. Very good. Let's start you typing. Don't worry. I'll show you exactly what to do."

You log on to the computer and start to work on organising the online catalogue. Jim sits close beside you and guides your fingers into proper placement. You're surprised that you catch on so fast – the constant bobbing of his head and frequent press of his feathers against your skin should be nothing but distracting – but something makes you want to impress him. By the end of your session you're – at the very least – a competent typist, and he's all but quivering with delight.

* * *

Time passes, and the **Intramural Sports Day** approaches. Due to your immense hunter-gatherer strength, you have been asked to participate in the weight-lifting competition. 

You are able to catch a hearty breakfast on the day of the tournament. You are well prepared!

It will be some time before your competition occurs. What would you like to do while you wait?

**▸ Sit in the stands and cheer on your classmates.**  
▹ See if you can be of any help at the first-aid tent.  
▹ Find some shade to relax in.  
▹ Panic and flee the competition grounds. 

You head toward the stands and see a bird with familiar plumage sitting alone. It's Sherlock.

**▸ Invite yourself to sit beside him.**  
▹ He's probably alone for a reason. Find a seat away from him.

"Hello," you say, sitting close to him.

He spares you a glance before flapping up and screeching, "Contestant number five is adopted!" as the racers fly past.

"That's... what?" you ask him softly, suddenly aware of the glares directed your way.

"It's true."

"Okay, but why did you just yell that?"

"I'm cheerleading. Apparently there's no way to avoid participation entirely today, so I chose what I thought I'd be best at."

"Is that what they meant by cheerleading, do you think?"

Sherlock gives a dismissive flap of his wings. "It worked, contestant number five has fallen back and our classmate is closer to the lead."

"Well, good work."

"I cheerlead to win."

* * *

When the time for the weight-lifting competition comes you do not need any cheerleaders to demoralise your opponent. With sheer human strength and integrity you break the weight-lifting records.

You bring great victory upon yourself, your school, and your species!

* * *

You are a virile young man in the prime of your youth. 

As such, you are forced to spend the best part of almost every day in a classroom.

You try to pay attention in class, but Irene and Sherlock have given you little choice but to pass notes between them under threat of being terrible seatmates – or more terrible than usual. Although you try to listen, you miss key points in Professor Lestrade's lesson and have to struggle through the coursework.

* * *

You return to the computer library. It has a comforting atmosphere: nothing but the hum of the machines and the soft sounds of you and Jim.

Jim watches your hands again as you work.

"How are you getting on with the other students?" he asks.

"Well enough. Mike is making more friends, and Molly is sweet. Irene's fun and Sherlock is brilliant." You know that none of this can mean anything to Jim – there's no reason for him to actually be interested in your classmates – but you appreciate his attempt at conversation. "Really, Sherlock is brilliant. He can read about as much in the state of my nails as I can in someone’s autobiography. He's not shy about it though."

"I think I may have heard of him." Jim considers. "Not shy at all, no."

* * *

 **Bonfire Night** approaches! How do you want to celebrate?

**▸ Invite someone out to watch fireworks.**  
▹ DRUNKEN VANDALISM!

Spending the night with someone you like seems like a good idea. Who knows what could happen!

▹ Invite Mike  
▹ Invite Sherlock  
▹ Invite Irene  
▹ Invite Molly  
 **▸ Invite Jim**  
▹ Invite Lestrade

You decide to invite Jim. It will be interesting to see if he acts differently outside of school.

* * *

Jim looks right at home amidst the unruly crowd. 

He raises his crest in greeting at your approach.

"John! I see you out of your uniform at last!"

You huff a self-conscious laugh, feeling more revealed in your traditional human jumper and trousers than you ever have in your school uniform, though this outfit covers much more of you. 

Jim rubs the side of his head against your arm. "Interesting texture. Why do you wear it?"

"It's warm. I don't have down like you."

He whistles softly. "It amazes me that humans were ever the dominant species on this planet."

"I think this was based on a human celebration."

"So I hear." Jim ruffles his feathers contentedly. "I do like fire."

"I think the fireworks are going to start soon."

"Are they?"

"They're scheduled to, but I guess they're always a bit late. It must be hectic getting it all together."

Jim whistles again. 

You’re caught off guard by the sudden boom of an explosion. Panicked screams follow immediately. High shrieks of pain and distress pierce the air. 

"What the hell was that?" You jump up to see. 

You start running toward the smoke and the screaming but Jim's feathery body crashes into you, knocking you off balance. 

"Don't get involved!" he commands, "We should go. You need to get out of here. They'll be looking for anyone suspicious and as a human you're going to stand out."

"Birds are hurt over there!" you argue.

"And paramedics are on hand. What good can you do? Come on. I'll accompany you home. It's not safe here."

You let yourself be led away from the carnage, ignoring the smell of roast turkey carried on the wind. 

"Thank you," you say when you arrive at the mouth of your cave, "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been with me."

"Don't worry," Jim comforts, "I won't tell anyone you were there."

"Sleep well," he trills, before flying off into the night.

* * *

School is cancelled the day after the explosion. You discover this by arriving at a closed school with a notice attached to the front gate. It seems that some of the birds who died in last night's explosion were students and teachers. The names of the dead and injured are listed. At least nobirdie you know is named. 

What should you do with your day off? 

▹ Attend a ceremony for the students and teachers who lost their lives.  
 **▸ Try to push the scent of well-cooked turkey out of your mind by catching and cooking some fresh game.**

It would be a good idea to stock up on meat before the winter. You spend the day chasing rabbits. By dusk you have a bag full of small, delicious mammals to show for it.

You're returning home when you spot a familiar face headed your way.

"Hi!" Jim trills as he hops toward you, "How lucky to see you again."

"Jim! Hello. Are you alright? I mean, did you know any of the birds who were caught in the explosion last night?"

"I wasn't friendly with any of them." Jim bobs his head.

"Good. It's so terrible." You shake your head.

"Hmm. What have you got there?" Jim points a talon at your meat-sack.

"Dinner!" You smile. 

"Did you kill them all?" 

"Yes."

Jim's approving trill feeds your hunter-gatherer pride. 

"Are you going to cook them? Let me watch."

"Alright, if you'll come back to my cave with me."

You appreciate Jim's presence as you return home. It's nice to have company, especially after the events of last night. 

You feel Jim's eyes on you as you pull a plump squirrel out of your bag. 

'Are you sure you want to watch this?" you ask, "It can get a bit... gory."

"That's fine." Jim tilts his head. "I want to see."

Jim watches you skin and clean the meat, appearing just as fascinated when you start the fire to cook the flesh as he is when you lay out the fur for drying. 

His scrutiny is unnerving at first, but you find yourself relaxing into it. You smile over at him when you're done. His appreciative whistle makes you blush.

* * *

School reopens the next day. Perhaps it's a little subdued, but almost everything seems the same as usual. 

Sherlock and Irene are still using you to pass notes during class. You're getting better at illicit comment conveyance though, and catch almost all of Professor Lestrade's lecture!

* * *

You hurry to the computer library after class. You smile at Jim who whistles in delight and raises his crest at you. 

"I've been thinking about your hands," Jim tells you, perching on the seat beside you. 

"Oh?" You stop typing to spread them out and look at them. There's always blood and dirt under your nails, no matter how hard you scrub. 

Jim butts his head against your hand. "Pet me," he commands.

"What, like this?" you ask, burying your fingers into the feathers that cover his neck. 

"Yes, like that. Lower, press harder."

You move your hands down Jim's feathery body and, when he demands it, lower still. He spreads his wings and undulates his tail when you reach a spot on his lower back, and bites you lightly in warning when you try to pull away. You move your fingers against him until he appears to find whatever relief he's looking for and collapses against you. 

"So hands are good then?" you ask, feeling strange and unaccountably warm. 

"Hands," Jim says, staring at you with one dark brown eye, "are very, very good."

* * *

As hours turn into days and days turn into weeks, as the caterpillar becomes cocooned and transforms into a beautiful butterfly, so too does the academic submission upon the academic submission undergo a conversion to scholastic assessment report.

"You're doing well," Professor Lestrade tells you, "But you have the potential to do better."

You'll have to try harder for the rest of the year. Or lower the expectations people have of you. Whatever works for you.

* * *

The last day of class before **Winter Holidays** finally arrives. You find yourself walking down the corridor with Sherlock by your side detailing the finer points of identifying types of wood chews when your foot slides across the floor, taking the rest of you with it.

Sherlock ruffles his feathers in amusement as he looks down on you. You examine the ground to see what caused your tumble. 

A little plastic rectangle lies on the ground. Sherlock declares it to be a student ID card while you're picking it up. He's right. The name on the card looks strangely familiar, though you can't think where you've seen it before. You've certainly never seen the **Narragansett** pictured. 

Sherlock pauses when you show it to him. His wings twitch. 

"Give it here." He holds out his talons. "I'll take care of it."

**▸ Hand it over**  
▹ Keep hold of it and tell him you'll come with him.  
▹ Tell him you're perfectly capable of handing it over to the student's teacher yourself. It says the Narragansett's class right on it.

It's winter. As a hunter-gatherer you need to prepare for the harsh weather. You don't have time to deal with something that Sherlock can manage perfectly well by himself. 

"Alright." You slip the card into his grasp. 

He heads off to... do whatever it is that he does. You wish him happy holidays but get only the most cursory of responses. 

You roll your eyes and look forward to the new year.

* * *

The holidays are a bit miserable alone in your cave with nobirdie to celebrate with. 

It's not all bad though. Jim might not be there for you in person, but he shows that he cares. A delivery arrives on Christmas eve: a roast bird!

It comes with a talon-written note telling you that Jim often finds himself thinking of your time together. "I hope you enjoy this," the note ends, "I remembered what I saw you do that night and cooked it myself."

The bird is very large for an edible fowl. It must have cost him dearly. 

The meat is _delicious_.

* * *

School starts up again. Nothing much changes in the winter term; even the seating remains the same. 

Sherlock isn't in school. Rumor has it that he's caught some sort of highly contagious flu and has been quarantined.

Irene is quieter than normal without Sherlock's amicable antagonism. 

You're able to concentrate through all classes today, but pay special attention during 

**▸ Aerodynamics**  
▹ Maths  
▹ Dance

It may be a little silly, but sometimes you get jealous of the way your peers can soar above it all.

* * *

You head to the computer library as soon as class is over. Jim is, as always, waiting there.

"Did you like it?"

"It was delicious!” you say, thinking of his gift and remembering the delectable way the juices had flooded out over your tongue as you bit down on the tender meat, “Thank you. I'm sorry I couldn't get you anything. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"You've done more than enough for me, John." Jim bobs his head. "You have no idea what a help you've been."

You blush. You aren't entirely sure what you feel for Jim, but it makes you unsteady. 

"I was just having a snack. Will you join me? I have something that should be suitable for humans too."

"Of course." You smile at him as he grabs the handle on one of his desk's drawers with his beak and pulls it open. He pulls out a small bag filled with little grain-balls and tosses it over to you.

You eat together, he from his bag and you from yours. The grain-balls are exquisite. As much as you love meat, you're going to have to get him to tell you who makes these.

Jim is understanding as your exhaustion catches up with you. He takes the bag from your lax hand and lets you run your fingers over his feathers until your eyes close and your mind drifts free.

* * *

You wake in a room without windows. It's cold. Blindingly bright lights illuminate your naked body and the table you're strapped down on. You try to use your hunter-gatherer strength to tear through your bindings but they are too sturdy.

You are not alone.

Jim bobs toward you, talons clacking on the floor.

"What's going on?" you ask. You don't know, but you have the memory of his eyes on you as you cured your kills; you suspect. You think enough of him to suspect, and yet you took his food. You ate it. You fool.

Jim spreads a wing to draw his feathers across your skin.

"You're not that stupid, John," he trills, "You'll figure it out."

"Why?" you plead.

"That you are too stupid for." Jim ruffles his feathers. "It almost makes me sad. I don't resent you for it. Not too much."

You don't tell him that he doesn't have to do this. You don't tell him that he can't.

You scream and you scream and you scream, but no one comes to save you.


	3. Ending #3: A Grey Evening (Greg’s Route)

You wake bright and early. Today is a new day!

You see Mike in the classroom before school begins. It looks like he's talking to one of his seatmates. 

▹ Approach and say hello.  
 **▸ Wander into his line of sight, and watch to see if he'll call you over, but don't do anything to disturb their conversation.**  
▹ It looks like he's busy. You don't want to interrupt.

You move toward the window beside the teacher's desk. The sunshine warms your skin. Mike glances at you several times but quickly looks away when you turn to look at him more obviously. 

▹ He's probably worried that you're going to jump in and take over the conversation. You should make an effort to let him make his own friends.  
▹ You know what? He knows you're here and he's snubbing you. Now it's time to loudly recount embarrassing childhood stories.  
▹ Just bask in the warmth. Let the sun cook all of your problems away.  
 **▸ Stay nearby in case something changes, but stop making Mike the centre of your attention.**

You turn fully toward the window. Mike can call out to you if he needs something. The warmth is nice, but it gets a bit much after a while. Without a feathery covering, you are liable to get burned. 

You turn back to the shade. The teacher's desk is much nicer than yours. That isn't fair! You run your fingers over a corner of the wood. It's surely only a matter of time before some irate student uses it as a chew. You knock on it to see that, yes, it's really wood, and something small slips out from a drawer that hadn't been completely closed. You pick it up as surreptitiously as possible, hoping that none of your classmates think you're invading Professor Lestrade's privacy.

It's a small, smoothed, triangular piece of plastic. You barely have it in hand before Professor Lestrade enters. 

You back away from the desk as he approaches. He bobs his head at you in greeting, then calls for order. You slip to the back of the classroom and seat yourself quickly. He waits for quiet before he begins. 

"I hope you all managed to make at least one new friend yesterday. Now you have the chance to make more! Today you are each going to sign up to participate in whichever club you choose. I'll send around a signup sheet as I'm talking. This year we have the **Student Council** and the **Music Club** , looking for members. We are also looking for **Assistants** for the **Infirmary** , **Computer Library** , and **Classroom**.

You consider what to sign up for as the sheet makes its way around to the back of the classroom. 

**▸ Sign up for something you find interesting.**  
▹ Find a friend and sign up for whatever they signed up for. 

You examine the signup sheet as it lies on your desk. The importance of this decision weighs heavily upon your shoulders.

▹ Student Council  
▹ Music Club  
▹ Infirmary Assistant  
▹ Computer Library Assistant  
 **▸ Classroom Assistant**

You sign up to be the classroom assistant. Every teacher needs an assistant. Without one the classroom can fall into disrepair!

* * *

The school day is long, so long, and your hunter-gatherer attention wanders as the hours pass. Even so, you want to do well in at least one subject today. What should you pay the most attention in?

▹ Aerodynamics  
 **▸ Maths**  
▹ Dance

You focus on the contents of Professor Lestrade's lesson and don't let yourself get distracted by the beautiful iridescence of the plumage on his neck even once! It's hard work, but you feel like the knowledge has swollen in your brain by the time the bell rings.

* * *

You watch the other students rush out of class as soon as they can. 

Professor Lestrade looks rather startled when he notices your continued presence. 

"Is there something I can do for you?" he asks.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

He twists his head to peer at you with a single eye.

"I'm the classroom assistant. Do you need me?"

"Oh, yes." Professor Lestrade coos. "I have a classroom assistant. I need you to... I need you to clean the room. But..." Professor Lestrade hesitates. He twists his head to look through his other eye. "I can't stay to supervise you tonight. Can I trust you to lock the room up when you leave?"

"Of course!" You're a human, perfectly capable of using a lock. 

"Thank you!" Professor Lestrade tosses you the classroom keys. "Those are the spare set. As the classroom assistant you can keep them all year."

You tuck the keys away as he leaves and set to work cleaning the classroom. It's tough work, but your hunter-gatherer strength and stamina see you through. 

You lock the door securely when you're done, and though there may not be a professor there to give you validation, you know in your heart of hearts that you're the best damn classroom assistant ever.

* * *

Time passes, and the **Intramural Sports Day** approaches. Due to your immense hunter-gatherer strength, you have been asked to participate in the weight-lifting competition. 

You are able to catch a hearty breakfast on the day of the tournament. You are well prepared!

It will be some time before your competition occurs. What would you like to do while you wait?

▹ Sit in the stands and cheer on your classmates.  
▹ See if you can be of any help at the first-aid tent.  
 **▸ Find some shade to relax in.**  
▹ Panic and flee the competition grounds. 

It won't do you any good to get heat stroke before the competition. You find a nice, leafy tree and sit under its shade. 

It's not long before you hear the flutter of wings and feel a feathered body lie beside yours.

"Hello again. What are you doing lazing about here?" Irene asks.

"I'm waiting for my competition to begin. What are you doing? Aren't you supposed to be competing in the ground race now?"

"Hmm," Irene responds, "Yes and no. I was signed up to compete, but I'm afraid I'm suffering a rather bad stomach upset. I told them I could compete, but given the possibilities they'd rather I didn't disgrace the school by being violently ill on the track."

"Oh, _I see_."

"Yes, you do, don't you. I suppose that makes you a bit cleverer than the people organising all this."

You and Irene spend your time picking out flaws in the events and your competitors. You leave for the weight-lifting competition feeling well-relaxed, ignoring Irene's half-hearted attempt to persuade you to miss it.

* * *

There are no flaws in the weight-lifting competition. This becomes clear when your display of human strength leaves your competitors falling over themselves while failing to match you. You break the intramural weight-lifting records. All of them. 

You bring great victory upon yourself, your school, and your species!

* * *

You are a virile young man in the prime of your youth. 

As such, you are forced to spend the best part of almost every day in a classroom.

You try to pay attention in class, but Irene and Sherlock have given you little choice but to pass notes between them under threat of being terrible seatmates – or more terrible than usual. Although you try to listen, you miss key points in Professor Lestrade's lesson and have to struggle through the coursework.

* * *

You remain seated as your peers rush out again. 

"I can help this time." Professor Lestrade laughs as you set to work.

"It was a bit lonely," you tell him as you clear the whiteboard. 

"Sorry for abandoning you. I was impressed when I saw it in the morning. That might be the cleanest it's ever been."

You can't help but smile at his flattery. 

"Do you like teaching?" you ask after a moment of silence.

Professor Lestrade puffs up his feathers self-consciously for a moment. "It's interesting. Not something I ever expected to do."

"What did you expect to do?"

Professor Lestrade coos with laughter. "I don't know what I should tell you. Something more exciting. Not everybirdie can be a star, kid."

You suspect there's more to that statement than his light tone suggests, but don't push the matter.

"Well," you say once the cleaning is over and he starts locking up the room, "I'm sorry it's not more exciting, but I'm glad you're my teacher."

You catch Professor Lestrade watching you as you leave. He looks surprised, but happy.

* * *

 **Bonfire Night** approaches! How do you want to celebrate?

**▸ Invite someone out to watch fireworks.**  
▹ DRUNKEN VANDALISM!

Spending the night with someone you like seems like a good idea. Who knows what could happen!

▹ Invite Mike  
▹ Invite Sherlock  
▹ Invite Irene  
▹ Invite Molly  
▹ Invite Jim  
 **▸ Invite Lestrade**

You decide to invite Professor Lestrade. It will be interesting to see if he acts differently outside of school.

* * *

You find Professor Lestrade standing alone by the bonfire.

"The way the firelight dances over your feathers is lovely," you tell him. 

"You're looking rather debonair yourself," he returns.

You pull the sleeves of your jumper down for maximum warmth. You look good in your traditional human jumper and trousers, if you do say so yourself.

"Thank you, sir."

He bobs his head at you, ruffles his wings, and appears to come to a decision. "Call me Greg," he says.

"Thank you, Greg."

His tail feathers wiggle with pleasure.

"Is that what you usually wear outside of school?" he asks.

"Yeah, umm, sometimes."

He coos at you in amusement.

Then a blast rips through the air. You can see fire where there should be none. The air fills with sudden shrieks and panicked cries. You catch a glimpse of a bird running through flames, spreading them as it flaps its wings fruitlessly before collapsing. The scent of roast turkey fills your nose. 

"John!" Greg hits you with a wing as you stare at the fallen bird. "John!" he repeats.

You blink and turn back to him. 

"Listen to me, John," he speaks clearly. "You need to go home. I'd go with you but I'm," a coo of distress rises up from deep in his throat, "a first responder. I need to go help anyone I can but I _need_ to know you'll be safe. Promise me you'll go straight home."

"I- yes, alright. But is there anything I can do to help?"

"No. You can go home and stay safe. That's what I need from you right now. Okay?" 

You nod.

"Thank you," Greg coos, reaching out a wing to brush his feather tips across your back as you turn to leave.

The trek back to your cave is a stunned and confused one, but you arrive safe.

You lie awake early into the morning.

* * *

School is cancelled the day after the explosion. You discover this by arriving at a closed school with a notice attached to the front gate. It seems that some of the birds who died in last night's explosion were students and teachers. The names of the dead and injured are listed. At least nobirdie you know is named. 

What should you do with your day off? 

**▸ Attend a ceremony for the students and teachers who lost their lives.**  
▹ Try to push the scent of well-cooked turkey out of your mind by catching and cooking some fresh game.

The notice describes a **Sharing of Memories Ceremony** held at a nearby park. Even though you don't have any memories of the dead birds to share, your presence will be appreciated at the ceremony. You walk to the park with a heavy heart. 

There are lit candles and flowers everywhere. Birds are talking amongst themselves in hushed voices. 

You search for a familiar face amongst the mourners, and find several.

▹ Talk to Molly  
▹ Talk to Irene  
 **▸ Talk to Greg**

Greg is standing alone beside a board covered with pictures of the deceased. It should not be possible for a dove to look so bereft. 

"Hey," you say, approaching him softly. The dead are students and teachers; he must have known some of them.

"Hi." He bobs his head at you in greeting. 

"Are you alright?"

"Comparatively," he chuckles. He gestures at a picture of a **Narragansett**. "I did a lot of work with Dimmock. He was a good bird."

"I'm sorry. He deserved better."

"Well," Greg says with a low coo, "it's a dangerous life."

"Did you know any of them?" he adds.

"No. I suppose I'm lucky."

"I don't know. I'll miss him, but I'm glad I knew him." Greg draws a wingtip over a photo before turning to you. "This must be depressing for a young human in the prime of his life. Do you want to get out of here?"

▹ You should stay and try to comfort other birds.  
 **▸ You should be getting home. You have to tend to your vegetable garden.**

"I have some gardening I've been meaning to get to. I don't want to starve this winter!"

"I've never kept a garden," Greg says as he accompanies you home.

"I am an amazing hunter," you tell him, because modesty is for chumps, "but I can't eat meat all the time. The garden is relaxing and nutritious."

He watches as you weed your garden, and helps you get rid of pests by gobbling up stray insects. You spend a lovely, restful afternoon together. He follows you over to the pond for washing up. You can't stop grinning when you see him playing in the water with the exhilaration of a much younger bird.

* * *

School reopens the next day. Perhaps it's a little subdued, but almost everything seems the same as usual. 

Sherlock and Irene are still using you to pass notes during class. You're getting better at illicit comment conveyance though, and catch almost all of the lecture!

* * *

You stay behind after class again. Your responsibilities for today go beyond cleaning: you're also helping Greg mark tests! You're sitting in companionable silence as you check off your peers' answers when you remember the small plastic triangle that once fell out of Greg's desk. You pull it out of a hidden pocket in your uniform.

"Oh! Here," you say, holding it out to him, "This was near your desk. Do you know what it is?"

"That?" Greg coos amusedly. "It's a guitar pick. I play guitar, or I used to."

"You play guitar?" you ask, stunned.

▹ How does a bird play guitar?  
 **▸ Why hasn't Greg told you this before? You are overcome with lust.**

"Greg!" You sweep your arm over his desk, pushing the papers to the floor and climbing up on top of it. "I can't wait any more. We need to have sex. Right now!"

"What?" Greg jumps back, startled by your display.

"I want you Greg. I need you. I want this. Take me now!"

You kneel on his desk, forearms and shins flat on the wood, while you raise your arse and thrust it at him, making the skirt of your uniform twitch like tail feathers. 

"I want it John." Greg trembles. "I want you. But for God's sake, I'm your teacher!"

▹ Apologise for your display of vulgarity. Attempt to recover your modesty.  
 **▸ "Take me now!"**

You insist that he mount you. You wriggle your hips at him seductively.

"Oh. Oh God damn it. Fuck." Greg bobs toward you. 

"I'm not really a teacher," Greg confesses. "I’m a policeman. I'm undercover, investigating one of the staff here. I think he might be a criminal mastermind."

▹ Doesn’t that make any potentially exploitative abuses of authority worse?  
 **▸ "Good. Take me now!"**

Greg may not really be a teacher, but when he mounts you over his desk, he teaches you more about carnal pleasure than you ever suspected there was to know. He doesn't take long to do it either.

* * *

"So," you say in the afterglow as he completes his second victory lap around the classroom, "a criminal mastermind."

"Yeah." He lands beside you. "We've been trying to get something on him for ages. Nothing sticks."

"Stopping him would be the highlight of my career," Greg coos softly, "but it's a pipe dream."

He rubs a wing against your arm fondly. "I hate to bear bad news, but take some advice: following your dreams doesn't work out."

"What?"

"Find a practical career path and stick to it. Policeman, doctor, beautician. Something easily attainable. Not something that'll crush you if you fail."

"Why?"

"Because life doesn't turn out the way you thought it would. If I'd had more realistic views, I wouldn't have wasted so much time trying to become a rock star. Learning to play guitar never was my wisest choice."

"Never regret learning to play guitar!" You grab him by the beak and force him to look at you. "Never regret that and never give up!"

"We're going to catch this mastermind!" you tell him, "and when we do, you're going to quit being an undercover policeman and become a rock star!"

"John, that's..." He coos and ruffles his feathers. "Well, fine. If we catch him. I hate to introduce you to disappointment, but it's for the best if you see how things don't work out while you're still young."

"Don't worry." You drop a quick kiss on his operculum. "I'll show you. Dreams can come true."

Maybe it's the affection, or maybe it's your natural human persuasiveness, but you think you see a hopeful spark in his eye.

* * *

As hours turn into days and days turn into weeks, as the caterpillar becomes cocooned and transforms into a beautiful butterfly, so too does the academic submission upon the academic submission undergo a conversion to scholastic assessment report.

"You're doing very well," Greg tells you, "But you could benefit from more revision. Stay after class if you want to discuss your grade."

Greg instructs you on the principles of multiplication, and then _instructs you on the principles of multiplication_.

You're getting very good at it, if your own assessment counts for anything. Greg seems to agree.

* * *

The last day of class before **Winter Holidays** finally arrives. You find yourself walking down the corridor when your foot slides across the floor, taking the rest of you with it.

You look around, chagrined, to see whether anyone noticed your tumble. You are mercifully alone.

A little plastic rectangle lies on the ground. Upon examination, it turns out to be a student ID card. The image on the card jumps out at you immediately. It's Greg's friend: the **Narragansett** that died in the **Bonfire Night** explosion!

**▸ Take the card to Greg.**  
▹ Take the card to the Lost and Found in the Computer Library.  
▹ Leave the card where it is. 

This could be really important! Greg said that he'd done a lot of work with this Narragansett, maybe he was an undercover policeman too! 

You hurry to find Greg before he leaves for the Holiday. You manage to catch him locking up the classroom. 

"I found an ID card!" you pant. 

Greg looks at you bemusedly. 

"It's Dimmock's. I thought it might be important."

"It..." He takes it from you. "Yes, it might be. This is- Thank you, John! I'll see what I can do with it." 

He rushes off, too absorbed in his thoughts to wish you happy holidays. 

It's alright, you're glad you could help.

* * *

Your holidays start off a bit miserably. You're left alone in your cave, and the draft chills. 

You're not abandoned though; company comes on New Year's eve. 

Greg lands at the entrance to your home in a flutter. "John!" he cries, "John, we caught him!"

"You caught him?" you ask. "The criminal mastermind?"

"Yes! And it was all because of you!"

"How?"

"The forensics report on Dimmock's ID card came back. It was covered in cockatoo DNA! We arrested Jim, the librarian! We did it, John!"

**▸ That's convenient!**  
▹ Covered in cockatoo DNA... how exactly...?

You commend him on his good fortune as you gesture at him to come in.

"You were right." He leans close. "I thought it wasn't possible, but we did it."

"Because you followed your dreams," you tell him. "You can do anything when you follow your dreams."

"You're right. I shouldn't have given up so easily. I'm handing in my resignation tomorrow. I'm going to follow my dreams, the way you've shown me I should. Come with me."

**▸ Let your much older teacher/policeman cum hopeful rock star boyfriend convince you to drop out of school and join him on the road.**  
▹ Tell him you're glad he's following his dreams, but you can't put your own life on hold to help him.

"Of course I'll come with you!"

You spend the night together, and leave in the morning. You travel far and wide, supporting Greg as he plays in talent show after talent show and free gig after free gig. 

It takes a while for you to remember your own musical talents, but when you share them with Greg he's ecstatic.

Together you form a clarinet and guitar rock band. You take the world by storm! Everybirdie loves your beautiful music. 

You become the greatest rock stars in the history of birdkind.

When not on tour, or copulating, or copulating on tour, you and Greg travel around the world encouraging hopeless birds to believe in themselves, their dreams, and to never, never, never give up!


	4. Ending #4: A Velvet Nightfall (Irene’s Route)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "What does this need more of?" I thought to myself. "John getting pegged by a dominatrix bird" was the obvious answer. It always is.

You wake bright and early. Today is a new day!

You see Mike in the classroom before school begins. It looks like he's talking to one of his seatmates. 

▹ Approach and say hello.  
▹ Wander into his line of sight, and watch to see if he'll call you over, but don't do anything to disturb their conversation.  
 **▸ It looks like he's busy. You don't want to interrupt.**

You're glad Mike is expanding his social circle. You don't want to be clingy. You let him fly free, and make your way over to your own desk. 

Sherlock is already seated when you get there. 

▹ Greet him.  
 **▸ Ignore him. Mourn your fallen moustache.**

You hold a personal moment of silence for your vanquished facial hair. One day – you swear – it will rise again.

You're distracted from your grief by the sound of Irene taking her seat. 

**▸ Greet her.**  
▹ Ignore her. Her moustache-shaming ways have cost you dearly. 

"Good morning," you say, turning toward her.

"Don't you look dapper today?"

You narrow your eyes at her cold-hearted mockery. 

"Come now!" She wriggles her crest at you. "Who's a handsome boy?"

"You are! Yes you are!" You can hear her amused condescension as you turn back to the front of the class. Ignoring her takes effort, but you succeed admirably.

Her rich laughter doesn't stop until Professor Lestrade calls the class to order. 

"I hope you all managed to make at least one new friend yesterday. Now you have the chance to make more! Today you are each going to sign up to participate in whichever club you choose. I'll send around a signup sheet as I'm talking. This year we have the **Student Council** and the **Music Club** , looking for members. We are also looking for **Assistants** for the **Infirmary** , **Computer Library** , and **Classroom**.

You consider what to sign up for as the sheet makes its way around to the back of the classroom. 

**▸ Sign up for something you find interesting.**  
▹ Find a friend and sign up for whatever they signed up for. 

You examine the signup sheet as it lies on your desk. The importance of this decision weighs heavily upon your shoulders.

▹ Student Council  
 **▸ Music Club**  
▹ Infirmary Assistant  
▹ Computer Library Assistant  
▹ Classroom Assistant

You sign up for the music club. It's been a while since you've held a clarinet, but you were able to pick it up with relative ease. You'd like to play again. Hopefully your skills will help you bond with the other club members. You'll make beautiful music together!

* * *

The school day is long, so long, and your hunter-gatherer attention wanders as the hours pass. Even so, you want to do well in at least one subject today. What should you pay the most attention in?

▹ Aerodynamics  
▹ Maths  
 **▸ Dance**

Dancing is as important for humans as it is for birds! You sway to the beat and let the rhythm flow through you. With movement like that you'll unleash the full potential of human dexterity!

Your classmates stare in awe. They may have some avian grace, but no one can do the robot like you can do the robot.

* * *

You make your way to the music room after school. It's loud, but not with the sounds of beautiful music.

"-overpowered by some diva who doesn't even play an instrument!"

"You're calling me a diva?! _You_!?"

"This is a music club, not a vocalist club. I'm not here to play second fiddle to a pigeon."

"Oh, is that what this is about?" Irene lowers her head and fans her tail out. "You don't like pigeons?"

Some of the other members of the club, who've only been watching the argument up until now, ruffle their feathers.

"No!" Sherlock cries, "I don't like anybirdie who tries to manipulate me into letting them get what they want. It has nothing to do with genus."

"John!" Sherlock turns to you. "What do you think?"

**▸ "I don't mind if Irene doesn't play an instrument. She has a lovely voice."**  
▹ "Singing is nice, but Irene should start to play an instrument too."  
▹ "This is a music club, not a band. Does it really matter what other members do?"

Irene lowers her tail and raises her head at your defence. 

"You see," she says. "Nobirdie else minds. Stop causing problems."

Sherlock ruffles his feathers and ignores you for the rest of the day.

* * *

Time passes, and the **Intramural Sports Day** approaches. Due to your immense hunter-gatherer strength, you have been asked to participate in the weight-lifting competition. 

You are able to catch a hearty breakfast on the day of the tournament. You are well prepared!

It will be some time before your competition occurs. What would you like to do while you wait?

▹ Sit in the stands and cheer on your classmates.  
▹ See if you can be of any help at the first-aid tent.  
 **▸ Find some shade to relax in.**  
▹ Panic and flee the competition grounds. 

It won't do you any good to get heat stroke before the competition. You find a nice, leafy tree and sit under its shade. 

It's not long before you hear the flutter of wings and feel a feathered body lie beside yours.

"Hello again. What are you doing lazing about here?" Irene asks.

"I'm waiting for my competition to begin. What are you doing? Aren't you supposed to be competing in the ground race now?"

"Hmm," Irene responds, "Yes and no. I was signed up to compete, but I'm afraid I'm suffering a rather bad stomach upset. I told them I could compete, but given the possibilities they'd rather I didn't disgrace the school by being violently ill on the track."

"Oh, _I see_."

"Yes, you do, don't you? I suppose that makes you a bit cleverer than the people organising all this."

You and Irene spend your time picking out flaws in the events and your competitors. You leave for the weight-lifting competition feeling well relaxed, ignoring Irene's half-hearted attempt to persuade you to miss it.

* * *

There are no flaws in the weight-lifting competition. This becomes clear when your display of human strength leaves your competitors falling over themselves while failing to match you. You break the intramural weight-lifting records. All of them. 

You bring great victory upon yourself, your school, and your species!

* * *

You are a virile young man in the prime of your youth. 

As such, you are forced to spend the best part of almost every day in a classroom.

You try to pay attention in class, but Irene and Sherlock have given you little choice but to pass notes between them under threat of being terrible seatmates – or more terrible than usual. You find yourself a little jealous – you know Irene far better than Sherlock does; if she's passing notes to anyone it should be you! You find yourself a piece of scrap paper and join in on the note-writing action. 

Your scrawled conversation causes you to miss key points of Professor Lestrade's lesson. You have to struggle through the coursework, but you have no regrets.

* * *

Irene and Sherlock's rivalry has calmed in music club at least. They certainly don't get along, but they've refrained from starting any more big arguments.

Today is Irene's turn to present a piece of music to the club. 

"What are you going to do?" you ask as the other members assemble to listen.

"I'm singing an old classic. I find it appropriate."

"I can't wait to hear it!" you tell her, taking a seat. 

"This is a traditional song," she informs the assembled club members. "It's called ' _This Land is My Land (And I Will Fuck You Up If You Show Your Face Around Here Again)_ '."

She turns to place Sherlock directly in her line of sight before she starts.

"Whoop! Whoop-whoop whoop-whoop whoop-whoop whoop-whoop!" she sings, bobbing her head low and fanning her tail out.

Her song is well received. She gets a flying ovation from most of the club.

* * *

 **Bonfire Night** approaches! How do you want to celebrate?

**▸ Invite someone out to watch fireworks.**  
▹ DRUNKEN VANDALISM!

Spending the night with someone you like seems like a good idea. Who knows what could happen!

▹ Invite Mike  
▹ Invite Sherlock  
 **▸ Invite Irene**  
▹ Invite Molly  
▹ Invite Jim  
▹ Invite Lestrade

You decide to invite Irene. You'd like to spend some time with her outside of school.

* * *

You see Irene amidst a gaggle of revelers. She catches you staring and – as you consider how best to make your approach – breaks away from the group and comes to you.

"Don't you look handsome!" She catches the arm of your jumper in her beak and tugs lightly. "Did you dress up for me?"

You hadn't actually put much effort into your traditional human jumper-and-trouser outfit, but it can't hurt to let her think you did.

"Would you be surprised if I had?"

"Mmm, no. It's good." She wriggles her crest at you. "Maybe we don't need to wait for the fireworks to have a good time. Would you like to show me where you live?"

▹ But there are fireworks! You _have_ to see the fireworks!  
 **▸ Your home's not all that impressive, but if that's what Irene wants to do then you're happy to make her happy.**

"I live in a cave," you tell her. "I'd love to have you over if you don't mind that."

"Not at all. I want to see everything."

You take her home with you. She questions you about your garden and compliments you on the images you've painted on the walls.

"They're not done." You blush. 

"Still, they're very good." She hops up onto the pile of rags and furs that you sleep on. "If we have sex, can you keep your clothes on?"

▹ Err, what?  
 **▸ Yeah, mostly.**

"I know for a fact that I can come in my pants!" you proudly inform her. "But I think they should be lowered a bit for sex."

"Fine. Come here." 

▹ Actually, this is progressing a bit fast.  
 **▸ Show her your genitals.**

You approach her, unzipping your flies but not pulling yourself out as you lie down beside her.

You briefly consider the path ahead of you.

▹ Maybe bird/human sex isn't something you're ready for.  
 **▸ Ahh yeah, you can do this.**

You lower your pants so that she may gaze upon your glory. 

"Where is your vent?"

You start to pull your pants back up and prepare to refasten your trousers. "I'm a human. I don't have a cloaca!"

"Sorry, sorry," she says lightly, using a talon to pull your pants down again. "I didn't know. Is it supposed to swell like that?"

"Yes! Yes it is. Thank you for your concern."

"It's no trouble," she says, brushing it with a wing.

Your hips jump to follow the sensation. 

"I like it," she says. "I bet you can play with this for hours."

You have. You decide not to tell her about that though.

"Look at it jump!"

She plays with you for what feels like forever. The brush of her wing against your beef baton is too light to bring you to an easy spunksplosion, and she backs off whenever she realises the weasel’s about to pop. 

You suffer a dishonorable discharge, finally, when she fails to pull away. She dismisses your attempts to please the pigeon, telling you that you can return the favour in the morning. You fall asleep as she runs her beak though your hair, sated with the feeling of her feathery body beside you.

* * *

You wake late in the morning. The sun is high in the sky and you've certainly missed a good chunk of the school day. 

Irene calms your panic and convinces you to stay home. After what you promised last night, you'd be a very inconsiderate boyfriend if you didn't.

* * *

You return to school as normal the next day. You're lucky – apparently the school was closed yesterday and you haven't been missed.

Sherlock and Irene continue using you to pass notes during class. You spend most of your time either writing you own or passing theirs on. Maybe you should pay more attention; you miss almost all of the lecture.

* * *

Music club is intimidating today. It's your turn to present a piece! 

You perform ' _Songbird_ ' on your clarinet. It is so moving that some birds collapse in fits of sheer ecstasy. 

You're forced to flee as a horde of infatuated club members start pulling out and offering you their down feathers. Shouldn't Irene be protecting you?!

* * *

As hours turn into days and days turn into weeks, as the caterpillar becomes cocooned and transforms into a beautiful butterfly, so too does the academic submission upon the academic submission undergo a conversion to scholastic assessment report.

"Come on, John," Professor Lestrade tells you, "I know you can do better than this."

You'll have to try harder for the rest of the year. Or lower the expectations people have of you. Probably the latter option; that one sounds easier.

* * *

The last day of class before **Winter Holidays** finally arrives. You find yourself walking down the corridor when your foot slides across the floor, taking the rest of you with it.

You look around, chagrined, to see whether anyone noticed your tumble. You are mercifully alone.

A little plastic rectangle lies on the ground. Upon examination, it turns out to be a student ID card. You've never seen the name on the card before and the pictured **Narragansett** is entirely unfamiliar.

**▸ The Narragansett's class and teacher are written on the card. You can return it yourself.**  
▹ Take the card to the Lost and Found in the Computer Library.  
▹ Leave the card where it is. 

The Narragansett's class is easy to find, and taking it there will help you keep fit! 

You manage to make it to the room just as the Narragansett's teacher is locking the classroom up for the holidays. 

"Thank you," she clucks softly as you hand it over, "but I'm not sure what good it can do him now."

Oh well. Even if nobirdie's grateful for the return, at least it's not left lying on the floor.

* * *

Your holidays start off a bit miserably. You're left alone in your cave, and the draft chills. 

You're not abandoned though; company comes on Christmas eve. 

Irene arrives at the entrance to your cave with a gaily-wrapped box. She invites herself in. 

"Happy Christmas!" she says, pushing her package toward you.

You did not buy her a gift. 

**▸ Apologise for not having anything for her.**  
▹ You're fairly sure you have a small bag of seed lying around somewhere. You can find it and give it to her.

"I'm sorry," you say. "I didn't know you'd come over. I didn't think I'd see you until school started again. I haven’t bought you anything yet."

"I'm sure you can find a way to make it up to me." She eyes you expectantly. 

▹ Impromptu staring contest!  
 **▸ Offer to do her homework for her this coming semester.**

"I've seen your schoolwork, John." She laughs at your offer. "Open it!" She pecks at the box.

You tear the wrapping off and pull the box open.

She got you a penis.

It's bright blue, not quite as thick as yours, and attached to a mass of cloth straps. 

**▸ Thank her!**  
▹ Ask where she found it.  
▹ Recoil. Attempt to flee. 

"Oh. I've always wanted another penis. Thank you. It's just... it's just what I wanted." You hope your smile doesn't look too manic.

"Help me get it on!" she demands. "And go find your jumper. I like it when you wear that."

Oh. _Oh_.

Well then, you can wear the jumper. 

It takes some time to figure out how the straps should encircle a bird's body, but she makes it worth your while.

* * *

School starts up again. Nothing much changes in the winter term; even the seating remains the same. 

Sitting is a bit difficult. You're still sore from your holiday activities. 

Sherlock, Irene, and you continue the fine tradition of passing notes rather than listening to your teacher. When you share your concerns with Irene about your inability to learn and what that might mean for your future, she assures you that she'll let you be her kept boy.

* * *

The music club encourages social interaction. You and Irene are paired up and asked to perform together. 

When her melodious voice joins the dulcet tones of your clarinet you meet one of her beady, red eyes and you _know_. You know that this is love; you know that this is what you're meant to do with your life. 

You and Irene form the perfect duet. With your awesome clarinetist skills and her amazing voice, you take the world by storm. Your skills in the musical arts are rivaled only by your skills in carnality. You bring the music world to its knees, together.


	5. Ending #5: A Rose Dusk (Molly’s Route)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m honestly not sure how to describe the type of bird!sex this path contains. I’ll go with ‘potentially more disturbing than the bird!sex in the last chapter, depending upon your interpretation’ and let you take that as you will.

You wake bright and early. Today is a new day!

You see Mike in the classroom before school begins. It looks like he's talking to one of his seatmates. 

▹ Approach and say hello.  
▹ Wander into his line of sight, and watch to see if he'll call you over, but don't do anything to disturb their conversation.  
 **▸ It looks like he's busy. You don't want to interrupt.**

You're glad Mike is expanding his social circle. You don't want to be clingy. You let him fly free, and make your way over to your own desk. 

Sherlock is already seated when you get there. 

**▸ Greet him.**  
▹ Ignore him. Mourn your fallen moustache. 

"Good morning," you call to him as you sit. 

He looks over at you and clicks his beak in appreciation. "Your grooming has improved."

"Yeah. I decided to wait until I met somebirdie who could appreciate the majesty of a good moustache. It's wasted on you."

"You'll be waiting a while."

"Good taste is hard to find."

"You had meat for breakfast."

"Rabbit and some berries. How did you know? Do I have something in my teeth?"

"You have blood under your nails."

"Brilliant! You are observant."

Sherlock looks as though he's about to respond, but Professor Lestrade captures your attention by calling the class to order.

"I hope you all managed to make at least one new friend yesterday. Now you have the chance to make more! Today you are each going to sign up to participate in whichever club you choose. I'll send around a signup sheet as I'm talking. This year we have the **Student Council** and the **Music Club** , looking for members. We are also looking for **Assistants** for the **Infirmary** , **Computer Library** , and **Classroom**.

You consider what to sign up for as the sheet makes its way around to the back of the classroom. 

**▸ Sign up for something you find interesting.**  
▹ Find a friend and sign up for whatever they signed up for. 

You examine the signup sheet as it lies on your desk. The importance of this decision weighs heavily upon your shoulders.

▹ Student Council  
▹ Music Club  
 **▸ Infirmary Assistant**   
▹ Computer Library Assistant  
▹ Classroom Assistant

You sign up to be the infirmary assistant. Medicine is interesting; you'll have the chance to learn so much!

* * *

The school day is long, so long, and your hunter-gatherer attention wanders as the hours pass. Even so, you want to do well in at least one subject today. What should you pay the most attention in?

▹ Aerodynamics  
 **▸ Maths**  
▹ Dance

You focus on the contents of Professor Lestrade's lesson and don't let yourself get distracted by the beautiful iridescence of the plumage on his neck even once! It's hard work, but you feel like the knowledge has swollen in your brain by the time the bell rings.

* * *

You find your way to the infirmary after school.

The school nurse, a **Whooper Swan** , sets you and Molly to work at organising the medications. There are far more than you expected there'd be; you don't even know what most of these substances do!

You and Molly make a game of reading the names on the medication bottles aloud. You don't have to know the correct pronunciations to know that you're getting them terrifically wrong. You’re warm and light from giggling by the time you finish. Your smile as you wish Molly goodnight is entirely genuine.

You find yourself thinking, as you make your way home, how much you enjoy the sound of her laughter.

* * *

Time passes, and the **Intramural Sports Day** approaches. Due to your immense hunter-gatherer strength, you have been asked to participate in the weight-lifting competition. 

You are able to catch a hearty breakfast on the day of the tournament. You are well prepared!

It will be some time before your competition occurs. What would you like to do while you wait?

▹ Sit in the stands and cheer on your classmates.  
 **▸ See if you can be of any help at the first-aid tent.**  
▹ Find some shade to relax in.  
▹ Panic and flee the competition grounds. 

You make your way to the first-aid tent. It's not packed, but it's busier than you'd expected. 

"Hello!" You wave to Molly as she wraps up the ankle of an agitatedly flapping **Blue Jay**. "How are you?"

"I'm fi-" Molly starts before the bird's wing hits her in the face.

"Sorry. Are you done yet?" the blue jay asks as Molly flutters back.

"Yes, only it needs to be tied." 

"I can do that." You secure the wrappings on the blue jay's foot and help it out of the tent before going to look at Molly.

"Did she hit you as hard as it looked?"

"It's not that bad." Molly shakes her head and moves on to the next patient. 

"Mike!" you greet the soaked socorro dove entering for treatment. "What happened?"

"Coo-oo, it's not much." Mike looks from you to Molly and scratches at the ground. "I fell. I tripped into the barrel of sugar water for the racers. It's just... sticky. I wondered if I could clean up in here. It's mostly on my head."

▹ Commiserate.  
 **▸ Laugh at him.**

"Only you, Mike." You shake your head and grin at him. "Come over here with me. I'll help you get it off."

"Is that alright, Molly?" You turn to her.

"Yes, of course," she coos. "There's clean water and some cloths in the corner."

"Thank you for helping," she adds, "and I'm glad you're okay, Mike." 

You take Mike over to the back corner of the tent and help him get himself clean.

You and Mike talk about everything and nothing while you wipe his feathers with a wet cloth. 

"I need to get to the weight-lifting competition!" you cry him when you realise how late it is. "I'm sorry I can't stay longer."

"It's alright!" He looks at you happily. "Thank you for helping me. You've got the worst of it off."

"Good luck!" he calls after you as you run out.

* * *

You make it to the weight-lifting competition just in time. You're slightly winded, but that doesn't keep from being the best! You bask in your sweet, glorious success. You are the champion!

You bring great victory upon yourself, your school, and your species!

* * *

You are a virile young man in the prime of your youth. 

As such, you are forced to spend the best part of almost every day in a classroom.

You try to pay attention in class, but Irene and Sherlock have given you little choice but to pass notes between them under threat of being terrible seatmates – or more terrible than usual. Although you try to listen, you miss key points in Professor Lestrade's lesson and have to struggle through the coursework.

* * *

Your assistance in the infirmary today involves more organising.

The nurse prefers paper records to digital ones. He leaves you and Molly to make sure that all the students' medical records are properly ordered in the filing cabinets.

"I like this," Molly tells you as you work. "Not sorting through files, I mean, but helping people. I had fun working at the first-aid tent during the sports day. I think..." she hesitates and gives a small wiggle of her wings, "I think I'd like to do this, to go on and become a doctor. What do you think you'd like to do?"

▹ You are going to be an astronaut.  
▹ You hope to be a house-husband.   
▹ You'd like to open a little shop.  
 **▸ You want to be a doctor.**

"I want to be a doctor too," you tell her, "a surgeon maybe. I have steady hands."

"Yes!" she coos excitedly. "That would be wonderful. Birds' insides are fascinating. I bet it feels fantastic to be able to open them up, fix what's wrong, and put them back together!"

"You want to be a surgeon too?"

"Maybe. There are a lot of options, aren't there?"

You discuss possible career paths until you're out of files to organise.

You hope you don't sound distracted when you wish her goodnight; Molly's given you a lot to think about.

* * *

**Bonfire Night** approaches! How do you want to celebrate?

**▸ Invite someone out to watch fireworks.**  
▹ DRUNKEN VANDALISM!

Spending the night with someone you like seems like a good idea. Who knows what could happen!

▹ Invite Mike  
▹ Invite Sherlock  
▸ Invite Irene  
 **▸ Invite Molly**  
▹ Invite Jim  
▹ Invite Lestrade

You decide to invite Molly. You'd like to spend some time with her outside of school.

* * *

You find Molly perched alone on a bench, looking around at the gathered revelers. 

"Hello." She bobs her head at you as you approach.

"Molly!" You grin. "How are you?"

"There are a lot of people here," she coos softly.

"We can go somewhere else if you’d like. The fireworks are about to start, so if you don't like loud noises-"

"No, it's nice." She moves a foot so that her feathers don't cover so much of the bench. "You look nice. Please, sit. Unless you want to get closer to the fire?"

"Thank you." You take a seat beside her. "The jumper-and-trouser combination is a traditional human outfit."

"You look very different in it," she says, then hurries to clarify, "but you look good in everything I've seen you wear. It's nice."

"Your feathers are particularly well groomed tonight."

She bobs her head and gives a small coo of thanks. 

She starts to say something else, but you can't hear her over the sudden boom. 

Screams ring in your ears as you turn to see the commotion. There's so much fire, and it's spreading. You need to do something. You need to help those poor birds. 

You run toward the explosion. There's not much you can do to stop the fire, but you can help some of the birds away from it. 

You're able to guide a number of birds who've figuratively lost their heads to safety. You keep a wide berth from the chicken who's literally lost her head; there's nothing you can do for her. 

You're left standing, purpose lost amidst the emergency responders who've arrived to administer aid and extinguish the fires, when you hear Molly calling for you.

You turn to her voice and see her, wing pressed against the bleeding flank of a **Budgerigar**.

You run to help her; she can't press the wound closed by herself and her wing's turning red with the blood. The budgerigar's left wing hangs limp at her side. 

"You're okay?" you ask Molly, adding your hand to her wing to slow the bleeding. Molly nods while the budgerigar tells you that she needs proper paramedics. 

You and Molly hold the budgerigar closed until the paramedics have time to deal with her. 

You remain sitting with Molly after the paramedics take the other bird away.

"We should go home," she says eventually.

You blink the smoke out of your eyes and turn to look at her. She's a mess, you both are. 

"Yes, I'll... I'll walk you home." Your voice is surprisingly steady. 

"Thanks." She hops up and takes the lead, guiding you to her house. It's a nice house. She doesn't invite you in.

"Thank you," she says again once you've reached her doorstep. "You were really brave tonight. When I saw you run into the fire it was... I was impressed." She leans close to quickly run her beak through your hair. "Goodnight, John."

You watch her get in safely, then turn to make your own way home. 

By the time you get to your cave, it's so late it's early.

You strip off your clothes and leave them outside. The scent of roast turkey has permeated the fabric.

It should make you ill.

* * *

School is cancelled the day after the explosion. You discover this by arriving at a closed school with a notice attached to the front gate. It seems that some of the birds who died in last night's explosion were students and teachers. The names of the dead and injured are listed. At least nobirdie you know is named. 

What should you do with your day off? 

**▸ Attend a ceremony for the students and teachers who lost their lives.**  
▹ Try to push the scent of well-cooked turkey out of your mind by catching and cooking some fresh game.

The notice describes a **Sharing of Memories Ceremony** held at a nearby park. Even though you don't have any memories of the dead birds to share, your presence will be appreciated at the ceremony. You walk to the park with a heavy heart. 

There are lit candles and flowers everywhere. Birds are talking amongst themselves in hushed voices. 

You search for a familiar face amongst the mourners, and find several.

**▸ Talk to Molly**  
▹ Talk to Irene  
▹ Talk to Professor Lestrade

Molly stands off to the side. She's not speaking to anyone and she looks as alone as you feel. 

"I thought I'd find you here," you say as you approach.

She coos at you in greeting. 

"They're all so sad," she observes after a moment. "I'm not that sad. Do I have a right to be here?"

**▸ Yes, of course.**  
▹ Not really, no.  
▹ I don't know.

"Nobirdie's going to be upset that you came," you tell her. "They'll be happy that another bird showed up to pay her respects."

"Good. That makes me feel better. Do you want to be here though? I don't know, maybe I'll be happier if I leave."

**▸ "I'll leave with you. There's not much I can do here."**  
▹ "You don't have to stay. Go home if you want."  
▹ "It would be rude to leave early."

Molly follows you away from the ceremony.

"You hunt, don't you?" she asks. "To eat?"

"Yes."

"Can I see?" She flutters her wings nervously. "Can I watch you hunt?"

You're always ready to hunt. You have a game bag in your school bag. Should you let her watch?

**▸ Sure, why not?**  
▹ No, it'll get gross.

"Alright. I know a good place for it."

You take her to your favourite hunting ground, where the animals are plump and trusting. She watches silently as you break a hare's neck. 

She follows you back to your cave to watch you skin and gut the animal in fascination. 

She ruffles her wings as you open the mammal and asks, nervously, whether she can help.

**▸ Sure. You'd like assistance, and it will be educational for her.**  
▹ This is sort of complicated. It's best to just watch at first.

You let her help you eviscerate it. She works far more cleanly with her beak than with her talons, but she doesn't seem to mind when the blood gets on her leg feathers. 

You start a fire to cook the flesh and – perhaps unwisely – leave it to go wash up. 

Molly stays with you, cleaning her feathers in the pond efficiently.

You return to your cave and wait for your dinner to cook. You find a small bag of seeds for Molly; it's no fair for you to have something to eat if she doesn't.

Molly pecks at her seeds before twitching her wings, turning to you, and speaking.

"You make me happy. I want- All those birds are- If we'd been closer to the explosion yesterday we'd be dead. They didn't know that they were going to die and I don't- I don't-"

She stops, flutters her wings, and starts again.

"I want to be happy, and you make me happy, and I want to do what makes me happy."

**▸ "So you want to... do me?"**  
▹ "You make me happy too."

She flutters nervously. "If you'd like to. I'd like to."

**▸ You'd like to!**  
▹ She's a bird. You're a human. This can't end well.

"I want to!"

She seems pleased by your conclusive tone.

You put out your cooking fire. Safety is important, and you're far too responsible to have sex with a bird near an open flame. 

You don't fit together perfectly. She doesn't really know what to do with you, and your education hasn't quite prepared you for the realities of coupling with a bird. Even so, a good sense of humour and a penchant for exploration serve you well. Your fingers find the places that make her coo, and she figures out how to move against you to make you moan. At the end of it all, you're both left very happy.

* * *

School reopens the next day. Perhaps it's a little subdued, but almost everything seems the same as usual. 

Sherlock and Irene are still using you to pass notes during class. You're getting better at illicit comment conveyance though, and catch almost all of Professor Lestrade's lecture!

* * *

You hurry to the infirmary again after class. You and Molly are set to work on cleaning. It must have been a while since someone's bothered; there's really a lot of dirt. 

"John," Molly coos as you try to angle a mop under the nurse's desk, "do you think I'm weird?"

▹ "I've never thought about it. I'm the only human here. I might not be a good judge of weird."  
 **▸ "You're weird. I'm weird. We're both weird."**  
▹ "How do you mean?"  
▹ "No."

"Does that bother you?"

**▸ No.**  
▹ A bit.  
▹ Every second of every day. 

"I like that you're strange." You grin at her. "It makes us well matched."

"Would you like me if I was stranger?"

▹ Of course!   
**▸ Probably.**  
▹ Don't push it.

"I like you a lot. I don't think whatever you're worried about will change that."

"I-" Molly stops and ruffles her feathers. "Do you want to spend the holidays at my house. I'll be alone if you say no."

**▸ "I'd love to!"**  
▹ "No! I need to sit alone in my cave. It's tradition."

Molly coos happily at you. 

"Good," she says. "You know where I live."

* * *

As hours turn into days and days turn into weeks, as the caterpillar becomes cocooned and transforms into a beautiful butterfly, so too does the academic submission upon the academic submission undergo a conversion to scholastic assessment report.

"You're doing well," Professor Lestrade tells you, "But you have the potential to do better."

You'll have to try harder for the rest of the year. Or lower the expectations people have of you. Whatever works for you.

* * *

The last day of class before **Winter Holidays** finally arrives. You find yourself walking down the corridor with Sherlock by your side detailing the finer points of identifying types of wood chews when your foot slides across the floor, taking the rest of you with it.

Sherlock ruffles his feathers in amusement as he looks down on you. You examine the ground to see what caused your tumble. 

A little plastic rectangle lies on the ground. Sherlock declares it to be a student ID card while you're picking it up. He's right. The name on the card looks strangely familiar, though you can't think where you've seen it before. You've certainly never seen the **Narragansett** pictured. 

Sherlock pauses when you show it to him. His wings twitch. 

"Give it here." He holds out his talons. "I'll take care of it."

**▸ Hand it over**  
▹ Keep hold of it and tell him you'll come with him.  
▹ Tell him you're perfectly capable of handing it over to the student's teacher yourself. It says the Narragansett's class right on it.

It's winter. As a hunter-gatherer you need to prepare for the harsh weather. You don't have time to deal with something that Sherlock can manage perfectly well by himself. 

"Alright." You slip the card into his grasp. 

He heads off to... do whatever it is that he does. You wish him happy holidays but get only the most cursory of responses. 

You roll your eyes and look forward to the new year.

* * *

Spending the holidays with Molly is lovely. She's a good host; all your needs are met.

It's New Year's day when she asks it of you. She opens the fridge and gestures to a carton inside.

"You said... you said you'd still like me if I were weird and I... I think I'm weird, John."

You take the carton out of the fridge. It's definitely eggs.

"They're edible," she assures you, "unintelligent pheasant."

"Are you... going to eat them?"

"No. I want-" She ruffles her feathers uncomfortably. "I want to break them open. I like doing things with them. I like the way the yolk feels."

▹ You don't like where this is going.   
**▸ Eggs are gross and slimy. But maybe that's part of the appeal.**  
▹ That's hot. 

"I... think I understand what you mean. And you're telling me this because-"

"Because I want you to-" she cuts you off then censors herself with a pause, "with me."

▹ Alright. They're just eggs.  
▹ Are they fertilised?   
**▸ You've eaten edible eggs before. You can do this for her.**  
▹ You've eaten edible eggs before, but you're a human. She's a pigeon, not a predator, and even the birds that used to eat others' eggs have mostly stopped since the mutations gave them intelligence enough to understand where – and what – they came from. You don’t think you can do this with her.

You pull an egg out of the carton and look at it uncertainly as she flutters nervously.

"Show me what you like." You hold it out to her. 

She pecks at it with her beak, cracking the shell shallowly enough that the albumen doesn't leak out. She reaches out, grabs it between her talons, and squeezes.

It comes apart. The yolk lands, unbroken, with a soft plop. And then she steps in it. 

It spreads out over the tile.

You grab another egg, crack it against the counter yourself, and pull it open to catch the yolk between your fingers. You cradle it in the palm of your hand.

This couldn't have been a bird like Molly or any of your classmates. It's from an unintelligent bird, one that didn't mutate with the rest of its kind. Still, in the shell, as a yolk, they all look the same.

Perhaps it should make you ill.

You crush it, letting the yellow slime squeeze out and drip slickly down between your fingers. 

Molly nudges your hand with her head until you pet her, smearing the yolk across her feathers. 

She likes that. She has you open the next one over her back. 

When the kitchen is a mess and the carton is empty and she's covered in yellow, she turns to you. She quakes as she tries to make you as happy as you've made her. She manages to succeed before the egg dries, sticky on your skin.

"If those were pheasant eggs, what happens when you lay?"

She turns a dark eye on you and doesn't answer.

"Do you hate me now?" she asks. 

**▸ No.**  
▹ This can't happen again.

She coos happily when you shake your head. You're not sure why she enjoys this, but you enjoy her enjoyment.

With her, even this makes you happy. You might as well continue to do it.

* * *

School starts up again. Nothing much changes in the winter term; even the seating remains the same. 

Sherlock isn't in school. Rumor has it that he's caught some sort of highly contagious flu and has been quarantined.

Irene is quieter than normal without Sherlock's amicable antagonism. 

You're able to concentrate through all classes today, but pay special attention during 

▹ Aerodynamics  
 **▸ Maths**  
▹ Dance

Mathematics seem especially important today. Professor Lestrade keeps repeating that you'll be building off this lesson for the next few weeks. By the end of the class you definitely understand the concept.

* * *

The infirmary is quiet today. Molly and you have little to do, so you talk.

"I'm serious about becoming a doctor," she tells you earnestly. "I'm going to do my very best to become one."

**▸ You're certain you want to become a doctor too.**  
▹ After everything that's happened, being a doctor doesn't appeal to you anymore.  
▹ You could be a doctor, but you're still not sure. You're young, and life presents so many options.

"Me too. That's good right? We can do our best to help each other."

"Yes!" Molly coos happily. 

"I'm glad I can do it with you." She sounds almost shy. "I'm sure we'll be great together."

You and Molly study together. You're good students, and you push each other on to greater achievement. You're both found to be particularly gifted in medicine. You become a widely renowned pair, and go on to do things that no one but each other would have thought you were capable of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pheasant eggs seem to come in a variety of colours and shapes. I would propose that someone who wasn't terribly familiar with eggs might not be able to tell the difference between a pigeon's and a pheasant's.


	6. Ending #1: An Exuberant Eve (Sherlock’s Route)

You wake bright and early. Today is a new day!

You see Mike in the classroom before school begins. It looks like he's talking to one of his seatmates. 

▹ Approach and say hello.  
▹ Wander into his line of sight, and watch to see if he'll call you over, but don't do anything to disturb their conversation.  
 **▸ It looks like he's busy. You don't want to interrupt.**

You're glad Mike is expanding his social circle. You don't want to be clingy. You let him fly free, and make your way over to your own desk. 

Sherlock is already seated when you get there. 

**▸ Greet him.**  
▹ Ignore him. Mourn your fallen moustache. 

"Good morning," you call to him as you sit. 

He looks over at you and clicks his beak in appreciation. "Your grooming has improved."

"Yeah. I decided to wait until I met somebirdie who could appreciate the majesty of a good moustache. It's wasted on you."

"You'll be waiting a while."

"Good taste is hard to find."

"You had meat for breakfast."

"Rabbit and some berries. How did you know? Do I have something in my teeth?"

"You have blood under your nails."

"Brilliant! You are observant."

Sherlock looks as though he's about to respond, but Professor Lestrade captures your attention by calling the class to order.

"I hope you all managed to make at least one new friend yesterday. Now you have the chance to make more! Today you are each going to sign up to participate in whichever club you choose. I'll send around a signup sheet as I'm talking. This year we have the **Student Council** and the **Music Club** , looking for members. We are also looking for **Assistants** for the **Infirmary** , **Computer Library** , and **Classroom**.

You consider what to sign up for as the sheet makes its way around to the back of the classroom. 

**▸ Sign up for something you find interesting.**  
▹ Find a friend and sign up for whatever they signed up for. 

You examine the signup sheet as it lies on your desk. The importance of this decision weighs heavily upon your shoulders.

▹ Student Council  
 **▸ Music Club**  
▹ Infirmary Assistant  
▹ Computer Library Assistant  
▹ Classroom Assistant

You sign up for the music club. It's been a while since you've held a clarinet, but you were able to pick it up with relative ease. You'd like to play again. Hopefully your skills will help you bond with the other club members. You'll make beautiful music together!

* * *

The school day is long, so long, and your hunter-gatherer attention wanders as the hours pass. Even so, you want to do well in at least one subject today. What should you pay the most attention in?

▹ Aerodynamics  
▹ Maths  
 **▸ Dance**

Dancing is as important for humans as it is for birds! You sway to the beat and let the rhythm flow through you. With movement like that you'll unleash the full potential of human dexterity!

Your classmates stare in awe. They may have some avian grace, but no one can do the robot like you can do the robot.

* * *

You make your way to the music room after school. It's loud, but not with the sounds of beautiful music.

"-overpowered by some diva who doesn't even play an instrument!"

"You're calling me a diva?! _You_!?"

"This is a music club, not a vocalist club. I'm not here to play second fiddle to a pigeon."

"Oh, is that what this is about?" Irene lowers her head and fans her tail out. "You don't like pigeons?"

Some of the other members of the club, who've only been watching the argument up until now, ruffle their feathers.

"No!" Sherlock cries, "I don't like anybirdie who tries to manipulate me into letting them get what they want. It has nothing to do with genus."

"John!" Sherlock turns to you. "What do you think?"

▹ "I don't mind if Irene doesn't play an instrument. She has a lovely voice."  
 **▸ "Singing is nice, but Irene should start to play an instrument too."**  
▹ "This is a music club, not a band. Does it really matter what other members do?"

"You see!" Sherlock squawks at your agreement. "You're violating the spirit of music club!"

"Come back," he says as he folds his wings, "when you've learned to play an instrument."

"Alright!" Irene flicks her tail. "I'll play an instrument for you. In the _spirit of the club_."

That strikes you as the sort of declaration you should worry about. 

Sherlock doesn't seem worried. He looks at you approvingly.

"What do you play?" you ask him once the other birds have dispersed, certain they won't miss out on seeing feathers fly. 

"The violin."

"How does a bird play the violin?"

"Exceptionally well." He clicks his beak at you.

* * *

Time passes, and the **Intramural Sports Day** approaches. Due to your immense hunter-gatherer strength, you have been asked to participate in the weight-lifting competition. 

You are able to catch a hearty breakfast on the day of the tournament. You are well prepared!

It will be some time before your competition occurs. What would you like to do while you wait?

**▸ Sit in the stands and cheer on your classmates.**  
▹ See if you can be of any help at the first-aid tent.  
▹ Find some shade to relax in.  
▹ Panic and flee the competition grounds. 

You head toward the stands and see a bird with familiar plumage sitting alone. It's Sherlock.

**▸ Invite yourself to sit beside him.**  
▹ He's probably alone for a reason. Find a seat away from him.

"Hello," you say, sitting close to him.

He spares you a glance before flapping up and screeching, "Contestant number five is adopted!" as the racers fly past.

"That's... what?" you ask him softly, suddenly aware of the glares directed your way.

"It's true."

"Okay, but why did you just yell that?"

"I'm cheerleading. Apparently there's no way to avoid participation entirely today, so I chose what I thought I'd be best at."

"Is that what they meant by cheerleading, do you think?"

Sherlock gives a dismissive flap of his wings. "It worked, contestant number five has fallen back and our classmate is closer to the lead."

"Well, good work."

"I cheerlead to win."

* * *

When the time for the weight-lifting competition comes you do not need any cheerleaders to demoralise your opponent. With sheer human strength and integrity you break the weight-lifting records.

You bring great victory upon yourself, your school, and your species!

* * *

You are a virile young man in the prime of your youth. 

As such, you are forced to spend the best part of almost every day in a classroom.

You try to pay attention in class, but Irene and Sherlock have given you little choice but to pass notes between them under threat of being terrible seatmates – or more terrible than usual. You find yourself a little jealous – you know Sherlock far better than Irene does; if he's passing notes to anyone it should be you! You find yourself a piece of scrap paper and join in on the note-writing action. 

Your scrawled conversation causes you to miss key points of Professor Lestrade's lesson. You have to struggle through the coursework, but you have no regrets.

* * *

Irene and Sherlock's rivalry has calmed in music club at least. That isn't to say that they get along, but Sherlock finds it rather difficult to carry on an argument when Irene starts aggressively practising her new vuvuzela in his face.

Today is Sherlock's turn to present a piece of music to the club. 

"What are you going to play?" you ask as the other members assemble to listen.

"Something I composed myself."

"Really? Do you often write music?"

"Sometimes. When the mood takes me."

He doesn't seem inclined to elaborate, so you take your seat with the other birds. 

He plays. His music soars and falls, rushes and calms. He commandeers your emotions to follow it. You raise a hand to your cheek, as the final note fades, to find you've been crying.

The beauty of his melody was overwhelming. He's exercised all of your feelings, and all of your tears.

* * *

**Bonfire Night** approaches! How do you want to celebrate?

**▸ Invite someone out to watch fireworks.**  
▹ DRUNKEN VANDALISM!

Spending the night with someone you like seems like a good idea. Who knows what could happen!

▹ Invite Mike  
 **▸ Invite Sherlock**  
▹ Invite Irene  
▹ Invite Molly  
▹ Invite Jim  
▹ Invite Lestrade

You decide to invite Sherlock. You'd like to spend some time with him outside of school.

* * *

You see Sherlock standing away from the crowd, watching the revelers intently. 

"Why are you in disguise?" Sherlock asks suspiciously as you approach. "There's no need to be in disguise."

"I'm not in disguise! I've changed my outfit. I can wear what I want when I'm not in school. The jumper and trousers are traditional." You frown.

"Oh. Good." He clicks his beak at you. "It was a terrible disguise. I saw through it immediately."

"It wasn't- Why would I be wearing a disguise?"

"That's what I asked you."

You leave that line of conversation to die.

"Are you looking for someone else?" you ask as he continues to scan the crowd even after your arrival.

"Yes."

"Oh." That hits surprisingly hard. "When I asked you to this I meant you and me, not you and me and... whoever."

"An arsonist."

▹ You do not need a love life that involves arsonists.   
**▸ This makes you hot.**

"Any arsonist in particular?"

Sherlock grunts and glances at you before returning to scanning the crowd.

"I don't know who it is – yet. Something's going to happen tonight, but the tip-off was vague. I suspect they'll move when the fireworks have everyone distracted. I'll need your eyes. I've already checked the effigy. The bonfire itself is stable."

"What exactly am I looking –"

Your question is cut off by a loud bang.

"That!" Sherlock exclaims as sudden shrill shrieks split the air.

Sherlock keeps his eyes on the crowd. You're about to give up on him and rush off to help when he speaks. "I don't see anyone. Why don't I see anyone?"

"It's too late! Come on! These birds need help!"

You dash into the crowd and run toward the spreading fire. You're a little surprised that he follows.

You hesitate amidst the dozens of injured birds. Your instinct is to tend to the most injured first, but without medical training you could cause more pain than you'd prevent. 

Sherlock squawks in distress and flutters over to a **Narragansett**. 

The bird is badly burned. Well cooked. Your mouth waters. 

You can see Sherlock speaking to the turkey. He leans close to the bird's beak, as though he expects a response.

Maybe he gets one, but by the time you've run around the other birds and over to him the Narragansett is unmistakably dead.

"Are you alright?" you ask, though he looks more surprised than horrified.

"Yes. I'm– I am fine. I'm fine."

"Was he a friend of yours?"

"Hah, no."

"Did you know this was going to happen?"

"Did I know that someone was going to cause an explosion that would blow other birds' limbs off and did I perch back and let that happen? No, John, I didn't."

Judging by his voice, Sherlock's making an effort to keep any angry biting tonal.

"But you knew something was going to happen?"

"So did the police. If you're going to blame anyone, why not them? I suspect their attempt to evacuate would have been far more successful than mine."

You shake your head and turn to what's important: saving the birds. You're in the midst of the worst of the carnage. Paramedics are already arriving, and your skills don't much exceed being able to hold wounds closed. Still, you are skilled at that. Your hands are steady and well-formed for this.

"No one knew anything like _this_ was going to happen," Sherlock insists, dropping beside you as you apply pressure to keep an unconscious **Crested Tit** from bleeding out around a piece of shrapnel.

"Well someone knew. They did it."

"Yes, they did. They planted something. Sabotaged. It has to have been the fireworks. They wouldn't even have had to be here to watch it happen. You were right: that's why I didn't see anyone. It was too late."

"So what now?"

"So now I'm going to find out who it was."

"Then what? Bring them to justice?" Your tone is more sarcastic than it strictly needs to be.

Sherlock looks at you as though you've just slapped him and insulted his parentage.

"Are you about to tell me you're some sort of elite super-spy? Because if you're not, I don't know what you expect to do against someone who could do this."

"I'm not a spy; I'm a detective. And once I have evidence I can show it to the police and they'll have to take me seriously."

"How can you be a detective? You're a schoolbird. I sit beside you in class. We pass notes."

"They're not mutually exclusive. Being one doesn't preclude being the other!"

**▸ Believe him.**  
▹ He has to be lying.

"Alright! Okay. I suppose it makes sense, knowing you."

He seems to need a moment to decide how to take that. He clearly settles on flattered.

"But really –" You're interrupted by the paramedics, who guide you aside and move to deal with the crested tit properly.

"What now?" you ask him, "How does any of this help? Are you any closer to finding whoever did this?"

"Dimmock wasn't caught in the blast by accident. He knew something. If I can find out what..." He trails off and starts moving away.

"Where are you going?"

"To find out what he knew!"

▹ Let him do what he wants; you're going home.  
 **▸ Follow him.**  
▹ Tell the police that Sherlock has a strange connection to one of the victims.

"Wait up!"

He turns back to you and stares assessingly. "Keep up!"

"I can't fly!"

"Then run!"

You barely manage to keep up with him, but you don't lose him.

Sherlock leads you to Dimmock's house, and a rousing and prolonged invasion of his privacy.

You keep watch through the night. You manage to be quite useful, forcing open locked drawers with your immense hunter-gatherer strength and lifting cabinets for Sherlock to peer under.

A part of you wonders whether he really needs to inspect the bottoms of all the furniture or whether he just likes watching you lift things.

"We need to get to school," you tell him as you watch the dawn, "and I need to change. My clothes smell like turkey."

"There's not going to be any school today." Sherlock manages to call you an idiot without saying the words. "Didn't you recognise any of those birds? Some of them were students."

"They'll shut down the school because of that?"

"Of course. The families would be furious if they didn't. Then they'd never get the funding for new buildings to be named after the deceased."

"That's a bit pragmatic."

"Is it? I need to see if he slid anything under this cabinet."

"Where are his family?" you ask, lifting the furniture for him.

"He lives alone. Dead mother, distant father."

"How –"

"Look at the photographs."

You can't see what about them has told him anything. 

"He was working with the police," Sherlock tells you as you study the pictures hanging on the walls. "He was undercover, posing as a student at our school. I don't know how you didn't notice."

"How didn't I notice an undercover police informant? Maybe because he was undercover. What was he doing posing as a student?"

"That's what I'm trying to confirm! He wasn't terribly forthcoming." Sherlock circles the room. "What did he know?" 

"We've been up all night. Are you sure there's something here?"

"There has to be. Maybe I'm not seeing it for what it is. Or maybe that's it!" He flaps his wings quickly. "I'm not seeing it because it's not here. Something's missing!"

"What's missing?"

"Almost all of his identification!"

"We need to keep searching," Sherlock continues, "but if we can't find it we'll know more than if we can."

You continue to lift furniture for him. You're all but asleep on your feet by the time he decides you're done.

He seems unreasonably happy at finding nothing, but he sends you home alone. When you finally collapse onto the makeshift pile of rags and furs that you use as a bed, you're fairly sure you'll never have the energy to get up again.

* * *

School reopens the next day. Perhaps it's a little subdued, but almost everything seems the same as usual. 

Sherlock and Irene continue using you to pass notes during class. You spend most of your time either writing your own or passing theirs on. Maybe you should pay more attention; you miss almost all of the lecture.

* * *

Music club is intimidating today. It's your turn to present a piece! 

You perform ' _Songbird_ ' on your clarinet. It is so moving that some birds collapse in fits of sheer ecstasy. 

You're forced to flee as a horde of infatuated club members start pulling out and offering you their down feathers. Sherlock helps you escape, guiding you through the twisted maze of the school's hallways until all of your new fans have lost you.

"That was," he says, as you huddle together under the alcove of a staircase, "good. Very good." He looks like he wants to say more, but he holds himself back.

"Thanks." You blush. Maybe it isn't necessary, but you huddle closer to him in the alcove. You're fairly certain you've lost the other birds, but if anyone's still searching you want all the cover the alcove can provide. He doesn't seem to mind.

* * *

As hours turn into days and days turn into weeks, as the caterpillar becomes cocooned and transforms into a beautiful butterfly, so too does the academic submission upon the academic submission undergo a conversion to scholastic assessment report.

"Come on, John," Professor Lestrade tells you, "I know you can do better than this."

You'll have to try harder for the rest of the year. Or lower the expectations people have of you. Probably the latter option; that one sounds easier.

* * *

The last day of class before **Winter Holidays** finally arrives. You find yourself walking down the corridor with Sherlock by your side detailing the finer points of identifying types of wood chews when your foot slides across the floor, taking the rest of you with it.

Sherlock ruffles his feathers in amusement as he looks down on you. You examine the ground to see what caused your tumble. 

A little plastic rectangle lies on the ground. Sherlock declares it to be a student ID card while you're picking it up. He's right. The name on the card looks strangely familiar.

"Dimmock," you read the name aloud. "Do you know anything about this?" You hand Sherlock the card. 

Sherlock flaps his wings in excitement. "Yes, of course! Wonderful!"

"What?"

"Dimmock! The **Narragansett** who died on **Bonfire Night**! Surely you haven't forgotten!"

"The one whose house we ransacked? This is the missing identification?"

"His student identification. Where's the rest? But with this-"

He starts off down the corridor.

**▸ Follow him.**  
▹ Let him run off to... do whatever it is that he does.

"Where are you going?"

"Dimmock wasn't the only undercover officer here. I'm going to get answers from the other."

* * *

You follow Sherlock to the computer lab.

"I found something!" Sherlock squawks at Jim like the excited schoolbird he is. 

"Did you really?"

"Dimmock's student ID!" He passes the card over to Jim. "You see! His death wasn't an accident, and whoever arranged it is here. I know that something's happening at this school. I know someone needed his identification cards. I know someone killed him, I suspect because he was getting too close to discovering something; perhaps they needed his identification to find out how much he knew. I don't know enough. Nothing else makes sense. The pieces don't fit together. I need to know what you know. Let me in. Let me help you investigate. I'm smarter than any of you and I can help."

"You think Dimmock was murdered because you found his student ID at school? You don't think he dropped it and no one noticed it was missing because he died?"

"I knew you were undercover from less than that."

"And you knew Dimmock was working with the police. It's all very impressive, Sherlock, but you have to stop. I'm not going to let you help the police."

"But," Sherlock sounds betrayed, "I gave you evidence." He puffs up. "You told me that if I found anything that... supported my theories, you'd let me in. You said you would!" 

"This isn't evidence. This is a misplaced student ID card."

" _He_ didn't misplace it! There was no dust on it. Someone had it. They lost it recently. They have the rest of his identification too. You can find them. You have police resources. Use them! Let me use them!"

"Maybe if you had more than this, but one student ID card won't help you."

"Maybe I'd have more if you gave me access to information!"

"Sherlock, I can't give you access to police information. You're a smart enough bird to figure out why."

"Why are you being so stupid? You're not usually this difficult."

"High praise!" Jim trills. "Come on now. I've had fun indulging you, but this is going on too long. It seems you're not quite the bird I'd hoped you were. Let it go, Sherlock."

"I'm not going to let it go! I need to-" Sherlock cuts himself off. "Oh. Oh! But that- oh. You."

"There we go!"

"But- Oh."

"Yes. I'm so pleased you caught on. I knew you could." Jim's eyes flick over to you. "This isn't the most ideal scenario, but I can make do."

You catch the flicker of light on metal grasped between Jim's talons, but the door slams shut behind you with an electric hum before you can identify whatever he's holding. 

"The London Elite Day Academy has a spectacular security system!" Jim flies up. He's grasping something, it looks like a small metal box with dials. "Fully technological. I'm intimately familiar with the ins and outs."

He flutters down on his desk before taking off again. There's not enough space in the room to stay easily airborne. "Something of an experimental design," he cries. "It's not vain to call it a work of genius."

Sherlock squawks and flutters back as Jim twists something on the box. A length of silver wire shoots out at him. It looks innocuous enough until it hits the tile with a loud, bright crack, leaving a singe where Sherlock had stood. 

"You needn't be so afraid. The charge can't kill."

Sherlock flies up at Jim, narrowly avoiding the cracks of the whip. As a hunter-gatherer, your hunter instincts are telling you that Jim's playing with Sherlock. He could hit more accurately if he tried.

You think Jim's showing off. You wonder if Sherlock knows, and if he'll be able to keep up when Jim stops playing. 

▹ Watch them fight and observe Jim's tactics.  
 **▸ Join the fray!**

You can feel the action swimming through your veins. Your heart sings with the thrill! 

▹ Punch Jim! Punch him right in the breast!  
 **▸ Contain Jim by hitting him back with a chair.**  
▹ Push Sherlock into the whip's path.

You grab a chair, climb up amongst the computers, and try to trap Jim between the chair's legs. 

He flies away from your makeshift birdcage, but when he cracks his whip at you it makes a more than adequate shield. 

**▸ If you have a shield, you need a sword.**  
▹ Try to bludgeon Jim with the chair.  
▹ You're too young to die! Push Sherlock into the whip's path and hope Jim takes pity on you.

The tile hit by the whip is blackened and broken. You dive toward it, ripping your blouse off in a manly fashion. You use the fabric to wrap one end of the tile as you pick it up, careful not to cut yourself on the edges. It's piercingly sharp; you won't have trouble cutting through bird bone with this.

Jim doesn't attend to you. He's focussed on Sherlock, laughing at the macaw's squawks.

**▸ Hunt.**  
▹ Gather.

You creep up behind Jim. He doesn't seem to see you, but Sherlock does. He drops out of the air, down on top of a computer, and Jim lowers to follow him.

That's all you need. With Jim low enough to catch, you grab and wrench on his tail feathers. His cry is as shocked as it is pained, but it stops quickly as you jam the tile into his back and twist it. His shriek trails into a low gurgle as he collapses. 

"Well," Sherlock says, staring down at the corpse of the librarian, "that explains everything."

**▸ It really, really doesn't.**  
▹ Oh, of course it does.

"What does it explain? What the hell just happened?"

"You killed a cockatoo," Sherlock clicks his beak at you, "brutally."

"Sherlock..."

"Jim was my contact. Evidence led me to believe that he was working with the police, in an undercover placement. I would appear to have been misled."

"Of course, and this leads directly to him trying to kill you on school grounds. Why didn't I see it earlier?" You mock his explanation as you pick up and fiddle with the control of the whip. The electrical current stops when you twist a knob on the base of the box; at least it won't end up setting anything on fire now.

"Jim told me things only the police could have known. He told me that something was going to happen at the bonfire. He told me that if I discovered anything I should come to him and he'd let me know more."

"Only the police or the person who did it."

"Precisely."

"So you've found the bird who killed Dimmock."

"But have I found out what Dimmock knew?" He flutters over to Jim's desk and starts tearing through it.

"What are we going to do about Jim?"

"Oh!" Sherlock looks up at you. "Don't worry about that. I hate having to talk to him, but my brother can take care of it."

"Your brother can get rid of dead bodies?"

"Yes, he does it all the time."

"Your brother performs a lot of corpse removal?"

"What? No, of course not. He has people to do it for him."

Sherlock upends a drawer over the floor and claws through what pours out. "There's nothing here!"

"Don't worry," you calm him. "I'm sure you'll figure it out. He probably wouldn't keep anything incriminating here, especially if he knew someone was after him."

"He was cocky enough," Sherlock mutters, but he appears less distressed even when his continued searching finds nothing. 

"You'll spend the holidays with me," he tells you as you continue to fiddle with Jim's weapon, trying to figure out how he locked the door with it and how to open it again. 

"I will?"

"My brother can take care of this, but you should stay with me until it blows over."

**▸ Alright then.**  
▹ But you were planning to spend your holidays alone in your cave.

"Stay with you where? I don't think you'd like my cave."

"I have a flat. Obviously."

You find a switch on the bottom of the whip's base. It's really more of a remote with a whip attachment. The hum fades and the door slides open when you flip the switch to match the others. 

"Oh, obviously. How could I have missed that?"

"Insufficient observation. You're slow, but your simian intelligence isn't entirely hopeless." Sherlock flutters over to you.

"Thanks. You really know how to make a human want to spend his time with you."

You wonder whether Sherlock has difficulty distinguishing between human tones, or whether he simply finds it more convenient to ignore your sarcasm.

"Come along. The school must be empty by now and you need to wash the blood off your chest."

You look down at yourself. Jim bled a lot. Sherlock's brother had better be very good at getting rid of bodies.

"Come on!" he calls from the doorway, then twists to stare at you. He lowers his head and spreads his tail. "That really is a lot of blood. Are you going to want help cleaning it off?"

▹ You wouldn't mind it.  
 **▸ No.**

"I can wash myself, thanks. Humans aren't actually completely incompetent."

"Yes. Very good. Follow me then."

You follow him out of the library and let him lead you to a safe place to wash up. He seems a bit annoyed that you won't let him watch you bathe, but as far as you're concerned, the sooner he contacts his brother and gets this cleared up, the better.

* * *

Spending the holidays with Sherlock is interesting. The flat is nice, if a bit messy. It's bigger than one bird needs; Sherlock can spare you an entire guest room. You have your own bed! It's lovely and plush, and you haven't slept in one since moving into your cave.

You're enjoying the luxury, sprawled over the mattress, when Sherlock bursts in unannounced and perches on the end of the bed.

"Humans are ridiculously secretive about their mating behaviours and they've kept information on their courting displays intentionally obscured!"

▹ Have they?  
 **▸ Hey! That's not fair!**

"No we haven't," you object. "Humans weren't secretive at all. We wrote books about it! We made videos! There were entire sections of the internet devoted to it!"

"Ha! I knew it!" He flexes his talons on the edge of the bed. It strikes you as a nervous action. He shakes his head quickly and continues. "Despite our biological incompatibility I have attempted to respond to your courting displays in kind. Why do you repeatedly rebuff me?" He sounds very annoyed.

**▸ What?**  
▹ Umm...

"Courting displays?" Yes, you've been making moves, but you haven't noticed any positive response.

"You called me brilliant. You tore off your shirt and killed an enemy to protect me. I have studied human culture. These are undeniably human courting behaviours."

"Oh. Inviting you to watch fireworks was a courting behaviour. Killing Jim was an act of desperation."

"And yet after that," Sherlock ignores you, "you rejected my offer of grooming. You've come to stay with me, and you eat what I offer, but only off of plates. It's enough to make me question my deductions of your intent, but here you are, splayed out wantonly in front of me, and nothing makes sense!"

**▸ This? This is not wanton splaying. You can show him wanton splaying.**  
▹ Position yourself more demurely to calm him. 

You shift from sprawling to splaying. _Wanton_ splaying.

He flaps his wings once. "I've found as much information on human courtship as I can. If it's insufficient or incorrect then you must explain."

"I asked you out on a date and we spent the night committing a break-and-enter. That might not be traditional progression, but I'm sufficiently courted."

"By me," he confirms.

"That would be the logical conclusion."

"Alright," he says. "I'm sufficiently courted too."

"Good."

"Good." He flexes his talons again. "Show me how humans mate. I know you don't have a vent."

**▸ Show him your genitals!**  
▹ It's a bit quick to be moving on to sex.

He watches with fascination as you slip out of your clothes and demonstrate what is arguably the best and certainly your favourite use of your hands. 

Being observed doesn't put you off. It has the opposite effect. 

But humans don't mate through observation, and neither do macaws. 

He watches for a short time, long enough to understand what you're doing, and then reaches a foot out, slowly enough that you could stop him if you wanted, and grasps you lightly.

Lightly is a rather inane modifier when applied to sharp talons sinking into your penis. 

You shriek and curl into the foetal position. Sherlock raises his talons to better observe the blood on them. 

▹ Cry during sex.  
 **▸ Explain that this is not how penetration is supposed to work.**

"No! Shit! You don't... you don't use talons. You don't scratch it. I thought you were going to rub it, not perforate it!"

It's not that bad, really. The scratches are very light and they've hardly drawn any blood at all. If they weren't on your penis you'd barely notice them, _but they are on your penis_.

"Are you sure? Have you done this before? Humans are supposed to bleed the first time. I read it."

▹ Really? Oh, well, that's all right then.  
 **▸ NOT LIKE THIS! NEVER LIKE THIS!!**

"Where did you read that? It can't be right! It's not. That is definitely not right."

"In- You don't believe me? Fine!" He flutters over to the bookcase and claws out several volumes which he drags back to you. "Look!"

You look. They aren't the scientific books you were expecting, but the covers do showcase a lot of the human body.

"Have you... read a lot of Mills & Boon?" 

"I've read a lot of books about pirates."

He waits a few moments as though expecting you to respond. When all he gets is your nonplussed stare, he continues. "These ones aren't the best." He ruffles his wings. "The characters keep getting distracted and having sex, rather than nautical adventures, but they did outline human mating rituals-"

"Sherlock, I don't think these are supposed to be an accurate representation of-"

"How would you know? You've never met another human."

"No, but if I did I don't think they'd try to make my penis bleed."

He flutters his wings in agitation. "You won't even try. It's no wonder humans are extinct."

"Letting you do that to me won't increase the population," you tell him sternly, "and you think I'm the buxom wench in this scenario?"

"You're certainly not the pirate king."

▹ Take offense.  
 **▸ Brush his cruel words off.**

You are secure in the knowledge that were you a pirate king, you would be an _amazing_ pirate king. Sherlock can't bring you down.

"Look," you say, "I really like you, and I think we can make this work. But I don't think you can get me off with your talons." There aren't beads of blood leaking out of you anymore, but you've certainly deflated.

"The books also described activities involving tongues."

▹ Let him put his dry, sharp, avian beak near your bits.  
 **▸ That is the worst idea you have ever heard.**

"Stop following the books." You run a seductive hand down the feathers on his chest. "Let instinct guide you."

In another display of outstanding stamina, you recover your ardour enough to return to your amorous activities.

Although there are a number of things you can't do with a bird that you can do with a human, you and Sherlock are clever enough to find a variety of activities that work for the both of you. You do them. You do them passionately and you do them loudly. If Sherlock's neighbours didn't want to be woken by increasingly frantic orgasmic squawking, they should have chosen homes with thicker walls.

* * *

You don't return to school after the holidays.

It turns out that Jim wasn't just some crazed cockatoo, but a criminal mastermind perching at the head of an international crime syndicate.

Sherlock decides that he needs to dismantle Jim's entire organization. Since you're the one who actually killed Jim, it makes sense for you to join him. You travel the world together, solving mysteries and hunting down outlaws. It takes years to wipe out Jim's underlings, but with Sherlock's tracking skills and your human strength, you manage it. When you've finally finished, you find yourself adrift. Even so, with Sherlock by your side, it doesn't take you long to set sail on a new course. You take to the sea, becoming an internationally renowned pair of pirate-detectives. You solve manifold maritime mysteries and have captivating nautical adventures. Your pirate booty is the envy of all, and although you and Sherlock find that you're frequently getting distracted and having sex, neither of you end up minding overmuch.


	7. Ending #8: A Touching Twilight (Anderson’s Route)

You wake bright and early. Today is a new day!

You see Mike in the classroom before school begins. It looks like he's talking to one of his seatmates. 

**▸ Approach and say hello.**  
▹ Wander into his line of sight, and watch to see if he'll call you over, but don't do anything to disturb their conversation.  
▹ It looks like he's busy. You don't want to interrupt. 

"Hey, Mike!" You make your way over to him. "How are you?"

"Hi! John, hi. I'm fine. This is John." He gestures toward you with a wing.

"I'm Nathan," one of his seatmates, a **Cape Glossy Starling** , adds. "This is Christa." He turns his head to the **Blue Jay** at his side. "And this is Caleb." He points his beak at a **Common Grackle**. 

"Should have known you and Mike would be friends," Christa says, "birds of a feather, or without."

"Is it hard being the only human?" Caleb asks. "Or do you like the attention?"

▹ It's awesome!  
▹ It's alright.  
 **▸ It can be difficult.**

"I'd like a chance to meet other humans." You frown. "I can’t always tell if I’m doing human things properly. But I suppose it doesn’t matter. If I don’t know, no one else will either."

"Maybe you’re strange even for a human." Christa laughs. "It must bother you."

"Maybe." You shrug and turn to Mike. "How did you like classes yesterday?"

Mike opens his beak to answer, but Professor Lestrade calls the class to order before he can speak. You hurry to your desk, dropping into your seat just before Professor Lestrade begins. 

"I hope you all managed to make at least one new friend yesterday. Now you have the chance to make more! Today you are each going to sign up to participate in whichever club you choose. I'll send around a signup sheet as I'm talking. This year we have the **Student Council** and the **Music Club** , looking for members. We are also looking for **Assistants** for the **Infirmary** , **Computer Library** , and **Classroom**.

You consider what to sign up for as the sheet makes its way around to the back of the classroom. 

**▸ Sign up for something you find interesting.**  
▹ Find a friend and sign up for whatever they signed up for. 

You examine the signup sheet as it lies on your desk. The importance of this decision weighs heavily upon your shoulders.

▹ Student Council  
▹ Music Club  
▹ Infirmary Assistant  
▹ Computer Library Assistant  
 **▸ Classroom Assistant**

You sign up to be the classroom assistant. Every teacher needs an assistant. Without one the classroom can fall into disrepair!

* * *

The school day is long, so long, and your hunter-gatherer attention wanders as the hours pass. Even so, you want to do well in at least one subject today. What should you pay the most attention in?

▹ Aerodynamics  
▹ Maths  
 **▸ Dance**

Dancing is as important for humans as it is for birds! You sway to the beat and let the rhythm flow through you. With movement like that you'll unleash the full potential of human dexterity!

Your classmates stare in awe. They may have some avian grace, but no one can do the robot like you can do the robot.

* * *

You watch the other students rush out of class as soon as they can. 

Professor Lestrade looks rather startled when he notices your continued presence. 

"Is there something I can do for you?" he asks.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

He twists his head to peer at you with a single eye.

"I'm the classroom assistant. Do you need me?"

"Oh, yes." Professor Lestrade coos. "I have a classroom assistant. I need you to... I need you to clean the room. But..." Professor Lestrade hesitates. He twists his head to look through his other eye. "I can't stay to supervise you tonight. Can I trust you to lock the room up when you leave?"

"Of course!" You're a human, perfectly capable of using a lock. 

"Thank you!" Professor Lestrade tosses you the classroom keys. "Those are the spare set. As the classroom assistant you can keep them all year."

You tuck the keys away as he leaves and set to work cleaning the classroom. It's tough work, but your hunter-gatherer strength and stamina see you through. 

You clean Professor Lestrade's desk last. You're rubbing the wood furiously, polishing it to a spectacular shine, when you notice something shoot out of it. 

A small, smoothed, triangular piece of plastic falls to the floor. You pick it up. You're not quite sure what part of the desk it came from. Rather than risk putting it back somewhere it doesn't belong, you decide to keep hold of it until you can give it to Professor Lestrade directly.

You lock the door securely when you're done, and though there may not be a professor there to give you validation, you know in your heart of hearts that you're the best damn classroom assistant ever.

* * *

Time passes, and the **Intramural Sports Day** approaches. Due to your immense hunter-gatherer strength, you have been asked to participate in the weight-lifting competition. 

You are able to catch a hearty breakfast on the day of the tournament. You are well prepared!

It will be some time before your competition occurs. What would you like to do while you wait?

**▸ Sit in the stands and cheer on your classmates.**  
▹ See if you can be of any help at the first-aid tent.  
▹ Find some shade to relax in.  
▹ Panic and flee the competition grounds. 

You head toward the stands and see a bird with familiar plumage sitting alone. It's Sherlock.

**▸ Invite yourself to sit beside him.**  
▹ He's probably alone for a reason. Find a seat away from him.

"Hello," you say, sitting close to him.

He spares you a glance before flapping up and screeching, "Contestant number five is adopted!" as the racers fly past.

"That's... what?" you ask him softly, suddenly aware of the glares directed your way.

"It's true."

"Okay, but why did you just yell that?"

"I'm cheerleading. Apparently there's no way to avoid participation entirely today, so I chose what I thought I'd be best at."

"Is that what they meant by cheerleading, do you think?"

Sherlock gives a dismissive flap of his wings. "It worked, contestant number five has fallen back and our classmate is closer to the lead."

"Well, good work."

"I cheerlead to win."

* * *

When the time for the weight-lifting competition comes you do not need any cheerleaders to demoralise your opponent. With sheer human strength and integrity you break the weight-lifting records.

You bring great victory upon yourself, your school, and your species!

* * *

You are a virile young man in the prime of your youth. 

As such, you are forced to spend the best part of almost every day in a classroom.

You try to pay attention in class, but Irene and Sherlock have given you little choice but to pass notes between them under threat of being terrible seatmates – or more terrible than usual. Although you try to listen, you miss key points in Professor Lestrade's lesson and have to struggle through the coursework.

* * *

You remain seated as your peers rush out again. 

"I can help this time." Professor Lestrade laughs as you set to work.

"It was a bit lonely," you tell him as you clear the whiteboard. 

"Sorry for abandoning you. I was impressed when I saw it in the morning. That might be the cleanest it's ever been."

You can't help but smile at his flattery. 

"Do you like teaching?" you ask after a moment of silence.

Professor Lestrade puffs up his feathers self-consciously for a moment. "It's interesting. Not something I ever expected to do."

"What did you expect to do?"

Professor Lestrade coos with laughter. "I don't know what I should tell you. Something more exciting. Not everybirdie can be a star, kid."

You suspect there's more to that statement than his light tone suggests, but don't push the matter.

"Well," you say once the cleaning is over and he starts locking up the room, "I'm sorry it's not more exciting, but I'm glad you're my teacher."

You catch Professor Lestrade watching you as you leave. He looks surprised, but happy.

* * *

 **Bonfire Night** approaches! How do you want to celebrate?

▹ Invite someone out to watch fireworks.  
 **▸ DRUNKEN VANDALISM!**

You are young! You are a rebel! You are one man against The Bird! Flip The Bird! You don't need his authoritarian bullshit!

"Sod the establishment!" you shout between gulps of shoplifted beer. "Resist authority!"

You find a discarded can of spray paint under a bridge. It's almost empty, but there's enough left for you to open an artistic dialogue on the possibility that the Commissioner of the city police sucks seal schlongs. 

You leave the can on the pavement, littering like the anarchist you are. 

Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's the aerosol fumes making you paranoid, but your hunter-gatherer instincts tell you that you're being watched.

You stumble down an alley and wind a twisting path through the city. The increasing surety that you're being followed sobers you. 

You find your way, finally, to the entrance of your cave.

"Alright!" you turn and shout out into the night. "I know you're out there, watching me. Come out."

A shape emerges from the shadows. 

You can't help but stare at the graceful bird's long white neck. Its alabaster feathers shine – sparkle – in the moonlight. This is dazzling perfection that you see before you; no other bird has ever been so beautiful.

"Who are you?" you gasp, all but speechless in wonder.

"Quack!" the **White Crested Duck** greets you. "Call me **Anderson**."

"Anderson," you twist the jewel of a name over your tongue.

"I've been watching you," Anderson tells you. You can't stop the blush that rises at the thought of having his attention. 

"I'm John." Pleasure tingles through your body when he repeats your name.

"I'll take you." Anderson waddles close. "I've never met someone like you before. You're ... different."

Your breath catches in your throat. Your heart's going to explode!

"I've never met someone like you before either." You manage not to stutter.

"You must be my soulmate!" Anderson declares, pressing his bill against your neck. "I can smell our entwined destinies on you!" He wriggles his tail.

He moves faster than you can see, pushing you back and into your cave.

"I'm not a bird," he tells you, "not anymore. I'm... a **vampire**!"

You cannot get your clothes off fast enough. 

"You're dead?" you ask, burying your fingers in his crest.

"I've been dead for years. I've been hunting, searching for someone, for you. Now that I’ve met you, I can't wait any longer!"

"Yes!" you moan as he pushes you down. This is what you've wanted, what you've needed. You realise, as your vampiric lover mounts you, that this is what has been missing, that with Anderson, all the holes in your patchwork life will be filled.

"Yes!" you cry again, because while all of this is so sudden, it's so swiftly, completely craved.

You really weren't expecting the evening to end with spontaneous necrophilia and anal sex with a near stranger. _Honestly,_ you think as Anderson corkscrews inside you, _the duck penis is the least surprising part of this_.

You're glad it did though. A night of drunken vandalism has transformed into one of true, eternal love. 

Vampirism, as it turns out, can be sexually transmitted. 

Your night of ecstasy with Anderson is only the first of many, and the gift of immortality with your soulmate by your side is worth the lust for blood that consumes your future.

You and your lover stalk the night, sating your desires under the stars. 

You live happily ever after. Together. Forever.


	8. Ending #9: A Vespertine Vision (Irene&Sherlock Route)

You wake bright and early. Today is a new day!

You see Mike in the classroom before school begins. It looks like he's talking to one of his seatmates. 

▹ Approach and say hello.  
▹ Wander into his line of sight, and watch to see if he'll call you over, but don't do anything to disturb their conversation.  
 **▸ It looks like he's busy. You don't want to interrupt.**

You're glad Mike is expanding his social circle. You don't want to be clingy. You let him fly free, and make your way over to your own desk. 

Sherlock is already seated when you get there. 

**▸ Greet him.**  
▹ Ignore him. Mourn your fallen moustache. 

"Good morning," you call to him as you sit. 

He looks over at you and clicks his beak in appreciation. "Your grooming has improved."

"Yeah. I decided to wait until I met somebirdie who could appreciate the majesty of a good moustache. It's wasted on you."

"You'll be waiting a while."

"Good taste is hard to find."

"You had meat for breakfast."

"Rabbit and some berries. How did you know? Do I have something in my teeth?"

"You have blood under your nails."

"Brilliant! You are observant."

Sherlock looks as though he's about to respond, but Professor Lestrade captures your attention by calling the class to order.

"I hope you all managed to make at least one new friend yesterday. Now you have the chance to make more! Today you are each going to sign up to participate in whichever club you choose. I'll send around a signup sheet as I'm talking. This year we have the **Student Council** and the **Music Club** , looking for members. We are also looking for **Assistants** for the **Infirmary** , **Computer Library** , and **Classroom**.

You consider what to sign up for as the sheet makes its way around to the back of the classroom. 

**▸ Sign up for something you find interesting.**  
▹ Find a friend and sign up for whatever they signed up for. 

You examine the signup sheet as it lies on your desk. The importance of this decision weighs heavily upon your shoulders.

▹ Student Council  
 **▸ Music Club**  
▹ Infirmary Assistant  
▹ Computer Library Assistant  
▹ Classroom Assistant

You sign up for the music club. It's been a while since you've held a clarinet, but you were able to pick it up with relative ease. You'd like to play again. Hopefully your skills will help you bond with the other club members. You'll make beautiful music together!

* * *

The school day is long, so long, and your hunter-gatherer attention wanders as the hours pass. Even so, you want to do well in at least one subject today. What should you pay the most attention in?

▹ Aerodynamics  
 **▸ Maths**  
▹ Dance

You focus on the contents of Professor Lestrade's lesson and don't let yourself get distracted by the beautiful iridescence of the plumage on his neck even once! It's hard work, but you feel like the knowledge has swollen in your brain by the time the bell rings.

* * *

You make your way to the music room after school. It's loud, but not with the sounds of beautiful music.

"-overpowered by some diva who doesn't even play an instrument!"

"You're calling me a diva?! _You_!?"

"This is a music club, not a vocalist club. I'm not here to play second fiddle to a pigeon."

"Oh, is that what this is about?" Irene lowers her head and fans her tail out. "You don't like pigeons?"

Some of the other members of the club, who've only been watching the argument up until now, ruffle their feathers.

"No!" Sherlock cries, "I don't like anybirdie who tries to manipulate me into letting them get what they want. It has nothing to do with genus."

"John!" Sherlock turns to you. "What do you think?"

▹ "I don't mind if Irene doesn't play an instrument. She has a lovely voice."  
▹ "Singing is nice, but Irene should start to play an instrument too."  
 **▸ "This is a music club, not a band. Does it really matter what other members do?"**

"You obviously don't understand what music club is about! It's not difficult; it's in the name!" Sherlock objects.

"Voices can be musical," Irene contends. "Not that anyone hearing you crow would know that."

Sherlock looks between you and Irene, ruffles his feathers, and holds out a wing as he turns and leaves, knocking a line of music stands down in his wake. 

"Flying the coop means I win!" Irene calls after him.

"He'll be back," she assures you. 

Your attempts to prevent a fight may have made things worse! Nobirdie was physically harmed, but Sherlock is still upset. Your diplomacy skills need work.

* * *

Time passes, and the **Intramural Sports Day** approaches. Due to your immense hunter-gatherer strength, you have been asked to participate in the weight-lifting competition. 

You are able to catch a hearty breakfast on the day of the tournament. You are well prepared!

It will be some time before your competition occurs. What would you like to do while you wait?

▹ Sit in the stands and cheer on your classmates.  
▹ See if you can be of any help at the first-aid tent.  
 **▸ Find some shade to relax in.**  
▹ Panic and flee the competition grounds. 

It won't do you any good to get heat stroke before the competition. You find a nice, leafy tree and sit under its shade. 

It's not long before you hear the flutter of wings and feel a feathered body lie beside yours.

"Hello again. What are you doing lazing about here?" Irene asks.

"I'm waiting for my competition to begin. What are you doing? Aren't you supposed to be competing in the ground race now?"

"Hmm," Irene responds, "Yes and no. I was signed up to compete, but I'm afraid I'm suffering a rather bad stomach upset. I told them I could compete, but given the possibilities they'd rather I didn't disgrace the school by being violently ill on the track."

"Oh, _I see_."

"Yes, you do, don't you? I suppose that makes you a bit cleverer than the people organising all this."

You and Irene spend your time picking out flaws in the events and your competitors. You leave for the weight-lifting competition feeling well relaxed, ignoring Irene's half-hearted attempt to persuade you to miss it.

* * *

There are no flaws in the weight-lifting competition. This becomes clear when your display of human strength leaves your competitors falling over themselves while failing to match you. You break the intramural weight-lifting records. All of them. 

You bring great victory upon yourself, your school, and your species!

* * *

You are a virile young man in the prime of your youth. 

As such, you are forced to spend the best part of almost every day in a classroom.

You try to pay attention in class, but Irene and Sherlock have given you little choice but to join them in passing argumentative, insulting, and – in your opinion – highly entertaining notes between them. You annotate their diatribes as you see fit; it is the price they pay for accurate delivery. 

Your creative editing causes you to miss key points of Professor Lestrade's lesson. You have to struggle through the coursework, but you have no regrets.

* * *

Irene and Sherlock remain rivals in music club. They goad each other continually. There seems to be some unspoken agreement that whoever can get the other to fly off the handle first wins. 

You're cleaning your clarinet, not paying attention to Sherlock and Irene's newest squabble, when you catch sight of her out of the corner of your eye, a blue blur moving at him.

Feathers fly, to the delight of the rest of the club members. 

"Hey!" you call out, setting your clarinet aside. "Stop!"

**▸ Swoop into the fray.**  
▹ Talk them down. 

Watching these beautiful birds fighting, you know what you have to do. You have to distract them. You have to push them apart.

You have to grab each of them by the breast. 

You're lucky, really. Sherlock doesn't bite you and Irene doesn't scratch at you. They both stay tense, with their wings spread, but they don't try to get at each other. 

▹ Lecture them.  
 **▸ Help them calm down.**

You press your fingers against their feathery breasts. "Come on, you don't need to fight."

▹ "Look at what a scene you're making."  
▹ "You're going to ruin the room if you keep this up."  
 **▸ "You're both smart enough to fix this with words."**

"Evidently no-" Sherlock starts. You wriggle your fingers against his plumage, and against Irene's for symmetry. He snaps his beak shut, and they both relax their wings.

By the time you decide you've had the two birds in hand for long enough to release them, they appear soporifically calmed. Apparently using your body is the secret to successful mediation. You are the master of breast-tickling diplomacy.

* * *

 **Bonfire Night** approaches! How do you want to celebrate?

**▸ Invite someone out to watch fireworks.**  
▹ DRUNKEN VANDALISM!

Spending the night with someone you like seems like a good idea. Who knows what could happen!

▹ Invite Mike  
▹ Invite Sherlock  
 **▸ Invite Irene**  
▹ Invite Molly  
▹ Invite Jim  
▹ Invite Lestrade

You decide to invite Irene. You'd like to spend some time with her outside of school.

* * *

You see Irene amidst a gaggle of revelers. She catches you staring and – as you consider how best to make your approach – breaks away from the group and comes to you.

"Don't you look handsome!" She catches the arm of your jumper in her beak and tugs lightly. "Did you dress up for me?"

You hadn't actually put much effort into your traditional human jumper-and-trouser outfit, but it can't hurt to let her think you did.

"Would you be surprised if I had?"

"Mmm, no. It's good." She wriggles her crest at you. "Maybe we don't need to wait for the fireworks to have a good time. Would you like to show me where you live?"

**▸ But there are fireworks! You _have_ to see the fireworks!**  
▹ Your home's not all that impressive, but if that's what Irene wants to do then you're happy to make her happy.

"There are _fireworks_ ," you tell her, because even though she's just said that there would be, apparently she doesn't understand what that means. "We need to stay for the fireworks. Fireworks are amazing."

"I could show you other amazing things."

"No. I'm staying for the fireworks. Have you ever seen fireworks?"

"Yes, John," she says slowly. "I've seen fireworks. I've seen fireworks behind closed eyes."

"Is it the noise? Do you not like how loud they are?"

"No." She tilts her head to stare at you with one eye. "I'm not afraid of anything. Never mind. Let's watch the fireworks."

You suffer a moment of silence before broaching the subject of school. You have it in common, so at least there's enough to talk about. She's laughing at your question about how she manages to do so well even though she spends the better part of classes writing rude notes, when you hear a loud boom.

You see fire spread and hear birds shriek. Irene stands shocked beside you as you watch others flap and fall in flames.

"We need to get help!" she shouts. "Come on!"

"You go. Get the police, get ambulances. I'll stay. Maybe I can help before they get here." 

She doesn't waste time arguing. She runs off for aid while you run into the disarray. 

There's really not much you can do. You guide frantic birds away from the fires and help the injured into safer positions. Some are beyond help, or at least, beyond your ability to help. You force yourself to leave them be, to do what you can. 

The emergency services respond promptly enough. You find yourself lost amidst the paramedics. Rather than become another obstacle, you head home. You know Irene is safe, at least, and you know that the injured birds are receiving the best care possible.

You force yourself to walk quickly. The scent of roast turkey lingers until you strip and take a quick dip in the pond. You wonder what Irene is doing now. This probably qualifies as a horrible date, but it's certainly been memorable.

* * *

School is cancelled the day after the explosion. You discover this by arriving at a closed school with a notice attached to the front gate. It seems that some of the birds who died in last night's explosion were students and teachers. The names of the dead and injured are listed. At least nobirdie you know is named. 

What should you do with your day off? 

▹ Attend a ceremony for the students and teachers who lost their lives.  
 **▸ Try to push the scent of well-cooked turkey out of your mind by catching and cooking some fresh game.**

It would be a good idea to stock up on meat before the winter. You spend the day chasing rabbits. By dusk you have a bag full of small, delicious mammals to show for it.

* * *

School reopens the next day. Perhaps it's a little subdued, but almost everything seems the same as usual. 

Sherlock and Irene continue passing notes during class. You've moved on from simply annotating their messages to illustrating some of the more vivid insults. Maybe you should pay more attention; you miss almost all of the lecture, and those drawings will be very difficult to explain if you're caught.

* * *

Music club is intimidating today. It's your turn to present a piece! 

You perform ' _Songbird_ ' on your clarinet. It is so moving that some birds collapse in fits of sheer ecstasy. 

You're forced to flee as a horde of infatuated club members start pulling out and offering you their down feathers. Sherlock helps you escape, guiding you through the twisted maze of the school's hallways until your new fans have lost you.

"That was," he says, as you huddle flesh-to-feather together under the alcove of a staircase, "good. Very good." He looks like he wants to say more, but he holds himself back.

It's probably for the best that he did. Irene flutters down the stairwell and coos her agreement. 

"It was good. It's so exciting when a handsome young thing knows how to use his mouth and fingers."

She moves closer, letting the tip of her wing brush just under the hem of your school-regulation uniform.

Sherlock puffs up as she plucks out one of her down feathers and tucks it into your waistband, but he doesn't make any comment beyond "déclassé."

You might not learn anything about foreign languages under that alcove, but you do learn that victoria crowned pigeons can stare hyacinth macaws down.

* * *

As hours turn into days and days turn into weeks, as the caterpillar becomes cocooned and transforms into a beautiful butterfly, so too does the academic submission upon the academic submission undergo a conversion to scholastic assessment report.

"Come on, John," Professor Lestrade tells you, "I know you can do better than this."

You'll have to try harder for the rest of the year. Or lower the expectations people have of you. Probably the latter option; that one sounds easier.

* * *

The last day of class before **Winter Holidays** finally arrives. You find yourself walking down the corridor with Sherlock by your side detailing the finer points of identifying types of wood chews when your foot slides across the floor, taking the rest of you with it.

Sherlock ruffles his feathers in amusement as he looks down on you. You examine the ground to see what caused your tumble. 

A little plastic rectangle lies on the ground. Sherlock declares it to be a student ID card while you're picking it up. He's right. The name on the card looks strangely familiar, though you can't think where you've seen it before. You've certainly never seen the **Narragansett** pictured. 

Sherlock pauses when you show it to him. His wings twitch. 

"Give it here." He holds out his talons. "I'll take care of it."

▹ Hand it over.  
▹ Keep hold of it and tell him you'll come with him.  
 **▸ Tell him you're perfectly capable of handing it over to the student's teacher yourself. It says the Narragansett's class right on it.**

"I can read, you know. And walk. Don't worry. I'll take it to his teacher myself."

"Yes, and that is exactly why I want it. Taking it to Dimmock's teacher would be a terrible waste."

"Did you know him?"

"I know everyone. Give it to me."

▹ Fine.  
 **▸ No. If he wants to be dramatic, he'll have to explain himself.**

"No." You keep the card in hand. "What do you want to do with it?"

"I want to take it to the librarian for reasons you won't understand."

"You could explain."

"Yes, for hours, I'm sure, while much of the information flew over your head. Come with me if you want, but I am taking that card to Jim."

**▸ Alright, but you will get an explanation out of him later.**  
▹ No, and if he wants that card he'll have a difficult time taking it off you.

"Come on!" he demands, starting off without you.

* * *

You follow Sherlock to the computer lab.

"I found something!" Sherlock squawks at Jim like the excited schoolbird he is. 

"Did you really?"

"Dimmock's student ID!" He passes the card over to Jim. "You see! His death wasn't an accident, and whoever arranged it is here. I know that something's happening at this school. I know someone needed his identification cards. I know someone killed him, I suspect because he was getting too close to discovering something; perhaps they needed his identification to find out how much he knew. I don't know enough. Nothing else makes sense. The pieces don't fit together. I need to know what you know. Let me in. Let me help you investigate. I'm smarter than any of you and I can help."

"You think Dimmock was murdered because you found his student ID at school? You don't think he dropped it and no one noticed it was missing because he died?"

"I knew you were undercover from less than that."

"And you knew Dimmock was working with the police. It's all very impressive, Sherlock, but you have to stop. I'm not going to let you help the police."

"But," Sherlock sounds betrayed, "I gave you evidence." He puffs up. "You told me that if I found anything that... supported my theories, you'd let me in. You said you would!" 

"This isn't evidence. This is a misplaced student ID card."

" _He_ didn't misplace it! There was no dust on it. Someone had it. They lost it recently. They have the rest of his identification too. You can find them. You have police resources. Use them! Let me use them!"

"Maybe if you had more than this, but one student ID card won't help you."

"Maybe I'd have more if you gave me access to information!"

"Sherlock, I can't give you access to police information. You're a smart enough bird to figure out why."

"Why are you being so stupid? You're not usually this difficult."

"High praise!" Jim trills. "Come on now. I've had fun indulging you, but this is going on too long. It seems you're not quite the bird I'd hoped you were. Let it go, Sherlock."

"I'm not going to let it go! I need to-" Sherlock cuts himself off. "Oh. Oh! But that- oh. You."

"There we go!"

"But- Oh."

"Yes. I'm so pleased you caught on. I knew you could." Jim's eyes flick over to you. "This isn't the most ideal scenario, but I can make do."

You catch the flicker of light on metal grasped between Jim's talons, but the door slams shut behind you with an electric hum before you can identify whatever he's holding. 

"The London Elite Day Academy has a spectacular security system!" Jim flies up. He's grasping something, it looks like a small metal box with dials. "Fully technological. I'm intimately familiar with the ins and outs."

He flutters down on his desk before taking off again. There's not enough space in the room to stay easily airborne. "Something of an experimental design," he cries. "It's not vain to call it a work of genius."

Sherlock squawks and flutters back as Jim twists something on the box. A length of silver wire shoots out at him. It looks innocuous enough until it hits the tile with a loud, bright crack, leaving a singe where Sherlock had stood. 

"You needn't be so afraid. The charge can't kill."

Sherlock flies up at Jim, narrowly avoiding the cracks of the whip. As a hunter-gatherer, your hunter instincts are telling you that Jim's playing with Sherlock. He could hit more accurately if he tried.

You think Jim's showing off. You wonder if Sherlock knows, and if he'll be able to keep up when Jim stops playing. 

**▸ Watch them fight and observe Jim's tactics.**  
▹ Join the fray!

Jim's attacks are unpredictable. You see no signs of when one is coming, or what exactly he'll do. What you do see is that he pays no attention to defending himself when he's attacking. Strike him then, and you're likely to hit.

**▸ Arm yourself.**  
▹ Join the fray!

Simply having arms is an advantage, but to truly benefit from the upper hand, you need weapons.

▹ Find something sharp.  
▹ Find something sturdy.  
 **▸ Find something with a long reach.**

Your gaze falls on a computer mouse. It's essentially a long wire with a weight attached to it. Yes, you can weaponise it. 

Jim is too focussed on Sherlock to attack you. You grab two of the mice, tie their tails together, and prepare to ensnare a bird.

Jim cracks the whip at Sherlock, almost landing a hit. It leaves him open.

**▸ Attack Jim.**  
▹ Attack Sherlock.

You toss one of the mice around Jim, letting the cord circle him and trap his wings. He falls heavily to the ground. The whip falls with him.

Even if the charge from a hit of the whip can't kill, it appears that a prolonged electrocution from lying on it can. 

"Well," Sherlock says, staring down at the charred corpse of the librarian, "that explains everything."

**▸ It really, really doesn't.**  
▹ Oh, of course it does.

"What does it explain? What the hell just happened?"

"You killed a cockatoo," Sherlock clicks his beak at you, "horribly."

"Sherlock..."

"I am a detective," he tells you. "I knew that something was happening at this school and I wanted to work with the police. They wouldn't take me seriously. Evidence led me to believe that Jim was an undercover officer. He told me that if I found anything suspicious, I should come to him. You saw what happened next."

"You were wrong about Jim being an undercover officer."

"I was misled."

"Of course, and this leads directly to him trying to kill you on school grounds. Why didn't I see it earlier?" 

The whip seems to have run out of charge, but you're still careful not to touch the once electric wire when you pull the metal box out from under Jim's body. 

"The ID from the officer you said was murdered, you think Jim might have the rest?" you ask when he fails to explain further.

"He should." Sherlock flutters over to Jim's desk and starts tearing through it. "He must have known what Dimmock knew. What did Dimmock know?"

"What are we going to do about Jim?"

"Oh!" Sherlock looks up at you. "Don't worry about that. I hate having to talk to him, but my brother can take care of it."

"Your brother can get rid of dead bodies?"

"Yes, he does it all the time."

"Your brother performs a lot of corpse removal?"

"What? No, of course not. He has people to do it for him."

Sherlock upends a drawer over the floor and claws through what pours out. "There's nothing here!"

"Don't worry," you calm him, "I'm sure you'll figure it out. He probably wouldn't keep anything incriminating here, especially if he knew someone was after him."

"He was cocky enough," Sherlock mutters, but he appears less distressed even when his continued searching finds nothing. 

"You'll spend the holidays with me," he tells you as you continue to fiddle with Jim's weapon, trying to figure out how he locked the door with it and how to open it again. 

"I will?"

"My brother can take care of this, but you should stay with me until it blows over."

**▸ Alright then.**  
▹ But you were planning to spend your holidays alone in your cave.

"Stay with you where? I don't think you'd like my cave."

"I have a flat. Obviously."

You find a switch on the bottom of the whip's base. It's really more of a remote with a whip attachment. The hum fades and the door slides open when you flip the switch to match the others. 

"Oh, obviously. How could I have missed that?"

"Insufficient observation. You're slow, but your simian intelligence isn't entirely hopeless." Sherlock flutters over to you.

"Thanks. You really know how to make a human want to spend his time with you."

You wonder whether Sherlock has difficulty distinguishing between human tones, or whether he simply finds it more convenient to ignore your sarcasm.

* * *

Spending the holidays with Sherlock is interesting. The flat is nice, if a bit messy. It's bigger than one bird needs; Sherlock can spare you an entire guest room. You have your own bed! It's lovely and plush, and you haven't slept in one since moving into your cave.

You're enjoying the luxury, sitting on the couch and sinking into the cushions, when you hear a pecking at the door. 

Sherlock does not move to answer it.

**▸ Ask if you should answer it.**  
▹ Ignore it.

"Should I, uh -" You stand, moving toward the door. 

"Leave it!" Sherlock tells you.

The pecking stops after that. You're granted a minute of silence before it returns, closer and louder than ever.

You look for the source of the sound and see Irene, perching on the windowsill and pecking at the glass.

**▸ Open it and see what she wants.**  
▹ Ignore her.

"What are you doing here?" you ask as she flutters in.

She ignores you, turning to Sherlock. 

"You," she tells him calmly, "are a nest-wrecker."

"That's projection," he returns. 

**▸ This should to be entertaining.**  
▹ Interrupt them.

She hops up onto your vacated spot on the couch. "It's not that I would mind, but it was _me_ he went to see fireworks with."

"And after all those letters we exchanged," she adds. "You've been leading me on, Sherlock Holmes."

"In the last note you had John pass me, you told me you wanted to clip my primaries."

"You kept expressing concern for my alleged pterotillomania. I thought you were into that."

"No, you didn't."

"Oh, but think of all the fun we could have if you were. You really should try it." She wriggles her crest at him.

"Anyway," she says, "I like you both, and we should all have sex."

**▸ As a bird, she's probably an expert in getting laid. You should take advantage of this.**  
▹ Hold on there! You're not sure you could handle one of these birds, let alone both.

"I feel exactly the same way!"

Sherlock completely fails to respond. 

"Well then," she says to you after a moment, "show us your vent." 

"He doesn't have a vent," Sherlock breaks his silence in an extraordinarily smug tone. "He's a human. They're not like birds."

"Really? Come on then, show us! It can't be too hard to figure out what to do with it."

"It does get hard," you warn her, but you remove your clothes to show her your genitals. 

"Ooh," Irene coos over you, "and it gets bigger! This will be fun!"

Irene explores your differences as Sherlock watches. Even when he does decide to join in, she takes the reins. 

Irene gives you an informal lesson on cloacae. You think she enjoys directing the both of you very much. You think you enjoy being directed. 

Everything goes exceedingly well, or so you think. This is why it comes as a surprise when you wake in the morning to see one last talon-written note from Sherlock, telling you and Irene that he's left to finish solving the mystery of what Dimmock knew. 

Irene, of course, is having none of Sherlock's bullshit. You help her hunt him down, and when the two of you find him, you discover that you enjoy angry-sex even more than exploratory-sex. 

He doesn't try to run again, but the relationship still features many opportunities for angry-sex.

The three of you travel the country, solving mysteries and fighting crime.

You realise it one morning over breakfast. You see Irene sharing her meal with Sherlock, her beak open and as far down inside Sherlock's own as it can go, and the sight makes you weak at the knees. It's at that moment that you fully grasp your feelings for the both of them. What you have together is not some flighty fling; it's love, and as difficult and argumentative as your partners can sometimes be, you wouldn't want anything else.


	9. Ending #7: A Copper Sunset (Mike’s Route)

You wake bright and early. Today is a new day!

You see Mike in the classroom before school begins. It looks like he's talking to one of his seatmates. 

**▸ Approach and say hello.**  
▹ Wander into his line of sight, and watch to see if he'll call you over, but don't do anything to disturb their conversation.  
▹ It looks like he's busy. You don't want to interrupt. 

"Hey, Mike!" You make your way over to him. "How are you?"

"Hi! John, hi. I'm fine. This is John." He gestures toward you with a wing.

"I'm Nathan," one of his seatmates, a **Cape Glossy Starling** , adds. "This is Christa." He turns his head to the **Blue Jay** at his side. "And this is Caleb." He points his beak at a **Common Grackle**. 

"Should have known you and Mike would be friends," Christa says, "birds of a feather, or without."

"Is it hard being the only human?" Caleb asks. "Or do you like the attention?"

▹ It's awesome!  
 **▸ It's alright.**  
▹ It can be difficult.

"I don't mind it." You shrug. "I'd like to meet other humans, but I like birds too. We can't be that different, after all."

"You certainly look different." Christa laughs. "It's too bad you can't pull off mysterious instead of weird."

**▸ Brush her off.**  
▹ Defend your honour.

You give her a brief huff of laughter before turning your back to her to speak to Mike. "How did you like classes yesterday?"

Mike opens his beak to answer, but Professor Lestrade calls the class to order before he can speak. You hurry to your desk, dropping into your seat just before Professor Lestrade begins. 

"I hope you all managed to make at least one new friend yesterday. Now you have the chance to make more! Today you are each going to sign up to participate in whichever club you choose. I'll send around a signup sheet as I'm talking. This year we have the **Student Council** and the **Music Club** , looking for members. We are also looking for **Assistants** for the **Infirmary** , **Computer Library** , and **Classroom**.

You consider what to sign up for as the sheet makes its way around to the back of the classroom. 

▹ Sign up for something you find interesting.  
 **▸ Find a friend and sign up for whatever they signed up for.**

You examine the signup sheet as it lies on your desk. The importance of this decision weighs heavily upon your shoulders.

▹ Sign up for what Irene signed up for.  
 **▸ Sign up for what Mike signed up for.**  
▹ Sign up for what Molly signed up for.  
▹ Sign up for what Sherlock signed up for.

You find Mike's name on the list and sign up to participate in the Student Council. This is your chance to get involved in political intrigue!

* * *

The school day is long, so long, and your hunter-gatherer attention wanders as the hours pass. Even so, you want to do well in at least one subject today. What should you pay the most attention in?

**▸ Aerodynamics**  
▹ Maths  
▹ Dance

As a human, you don't do particularly well in this class. You can grasp the theory just fine, but you're ill-equipped to translate what you've learned into action. Being surrounded by flappers isn't all that bad though. It gives you a chance to pretend all the pretty birds are showing off just for you.

* * *

You follow Mike out to the student council's meeting room after school. It's about the size of your classroom, but nicer. The marble flooring and pillars give it a particularly classy touch. You hadn't expected the London Elite Day Academy to be so into student councils, but the catered seed selection shows that they care.

You and Mike aren't the only student council members. You'll be working alongside Christa, the blue jay, Nathan, the cape glossy starling, and Caleb, the common grackle. 

"Well," Christa whistles, "the first thing we'll have to do is decide who's going to hold which position."

" **President** , **Vice-President** , **Treasurer**?" Caleb asks.

"I'll take President," Nathan immediately declares.

"I'm Vice-President," Christa confirms.

"That leaves Treasurer for me," Caleb caws.

"You two can be **Members at Large**." Nathan ruffles his feathers at you.

**▸ Hey, wait a minute!**  
▹ Okay.

"We need proper positions," you protest. "I can be the **Secretary**! What do you want to be, Mike?"

"I don't mind being a Member at Large."

▹ "If that's what you want."  
 **▸ "You can be the Public-Relations Advisor."**

"That's not one of the positions!" Christa objects.

"I really don't mind," Mike repeats. 

**▸ Fine.**  
▹ You mind. Mike should have a proper position!

It's not your place to force Mike into a position he doesn't like. 

"Alright, but I am Secretary."

"Fine, secretary, start taking notes." Nathan flutters his wings at you.

You record the rest of the meeting in penmanship with your dexterous human hands. These birds have their heads in the clouds. They have plenty of pretty plans, but obviously haven't given any thought as to how to achieve any of them.

Nathan, Christa, and Caleb soar off after the meeting concludes. You and Mike are left to clean the room. 

"Are you enjoying school?" Mike asks, as you sweep up spilled seeds. 

▹ It's great!  
 **▸ It's okay.**  
▹ It's disappointing.  
▹ It's horrible.  
▹ You don't have a strong opinion on it yet.

"Well enough. It's good to be here. I should be making the most of the scholarship."

Mike coos in agreement. "I agree. I don't want to disappoint my benefactor."

"Have you heard anything about him? Or her?"

"No," Mike says as you finish cleaning. The room looks even better than it did before you entered. "I don't know why anybirdie would be interested in me. It's probably someone who wanted to help an orphan from an extinct species. They probably didn't look too closely at who exactly they were helping."

You have no idea why Mike is so self-deprecating. It certainly isn't your fault.

"I'm heading home," you tell him, looking forward to relaxing in your cave tonight. "You're going the same way, right? Do you want me to walk with you?"

Mike coos in happy assent. You leave the school together, talking about everything that catches your interest, the way old friends do, until your paths split and he has to fly off on his own. 

It was nice, you think, watching him flutter off. Mike has been an important part of your life. It's comforting that he can continue to be, even though you're not the small child and fledgling pair you were.

* * *

Time passes, and the **Intramural Sports Day** approaches. Due to your immense hunter-gatherer strength, you have been asked to participate in the weight-lifting competition. 

You are able to catch a hearty breakfast on the day of the tournament. You are well prepared!

It will be some time before your competition occurs. What would you like to do while you wait?

▹ Sit in the stands and cheer on your classmates.  
 **▸ See if you can be of any help at the first-aid tent.**  
▹ Find some shade to relax in.  
▹ Panic and flee the competition grounds. 

You make your way to the first-aid tent. It's not packed, but it's busier than you'd expected. 

"Hello!" You wave to Molly as she wraps up the ankle of an agitatedly flapping blue jay. You recognise the bird as Christa. "How are you?"

"I'm fi-" Molly starts before Christa's wing hits her in the face.

"Sorry. Are you done yet?" Christa asks as Molly flutters back.

"Yes, only it needs to be tied." 

"I can do that." You secure the wrappings on Christa's foot and help her out of the tent before going to look at Molly.

"Did she hit you as hard as it looked?"

"It's not that bad." Molly shakes her head and moves on to the next patient. 

"Mike!" you greet the soaked socorro dove entering for treatment. "What happened?"

"Coo-oo, it's not much." Mike looks from you to Molly and scratches at the ground. "I fell. I tripped into the barrel of sugar water for the racers. It's just... sticky. I wondered if I could clean up in here. It's mostly on my head."

**▸ Commiserate.**  
▹ Laugh at him.

"Oh, Mike." You smile at him, running a hand over his wet feathers. "I'm glad you're all right. Come over here with me. I'll help you get it off."

"Is that alright, Molly?" You turn to her.

"Yes, of course," she coos. "There's clean water and some cloths in the corner."

"Thank you for helping," she adds, "and I'm glad you're okay, Mike." 

You take Mike over to the back corner of the tent and help him get himself clean.

You and Mike talk about everything and nothing while you wipe his feathers with a wet cloth. 

"I need to get to the weight-lifting competition!" you cry him when you realise how late it is. "I'm sorry I can't stay longer."

"It's alright!" He looks at you happily. "Thank you for helping me. You've got the worst of it off."

"Good luck!" he calls after you as you run out.

* * *

You make it to the weight-lifting competition just in time. You're slightly winded, but that doesn't keep from being the best! You bask in your sweet, glorious success. You are the champion!

You bring great victory upon yourself, your school, and your species!

* * *

You are a virile young man in the prime of your youth. 

As such, you are forced to spend the best part of almost every day in a classroom.

You try to pay attention in class, but Irene and Sherlock have given you little choice but to pass notes between them under threat of being terrible seatmates – or more terrible than usual. Although you try to listen, you miss key points in Professor Lestrade's lesson and have to struggle through the coursework.

* * *

Your student council is not a serene student council. 

You and Mike walk in together to catch Nathan and Christa in an acrimonious argument. 

"And maybe," Nathan screeches, "if your feathers were as bright as mine, I'd care about your opinion."

Christa catches sight of you just before responding. "Maybe if you were half as bright as Mike's feathers, that wouldn't be a problem."

Caleb gasps as though Christa has just said something particularly offensive. Considering Mike's plain, brown plumage, she really has. 

Nathan and Christa look ready to fly at each other. 

**▸ Intervene.**  
▹ Egg them on.

"What's this all about?"

"Nathan wants the catering for these meetings to provide a fruit selection. Christa wants to stay with seeds." Caleb gestures toward a table covered in seeds. "What do you think?"

"No one cares what the secretary thinks!" Nathan screeches. 

"We should switch to fruits!" Mike declares.

**▸ Support the switch to fruits.**  
▹ Support staying with seeds.

Mike seems to feel strongly about this, and it's important to encourage him to take a stand. Besides, you like fruits more than seeds yourself. 

"I want fruit too."

Christa raises her blue crest and glares at all of you, but she doesn't do anything more. 

Although there are no more overt arguments, the rest of the meeting passes icily. You're not sure whether Caleb is encouraging the discord between the other birds, but it's clear that he isn't peacemaking. 

You leave a note for catering, requesting a fruit selection for the next meeting, and head out with Mike. 

▹ Let Mike decide what to talk about.  
 **▸ Ask why he wanted fruits rather than seeds.**

"I thought you preferred seed to fruit. Are your tastes changing?"

"No. I just... I just wanted fruit."

"Why?"

Mike stops and looks down. "I didn't want Christa to get what she wanted. Do you remember the sports day?" He looks back up at you. "I didn't trip. Christa pushed me into the water-barrel."

**▸ That's terrible!**  
▹ That's hilarious!  
▹ That can't be true.

"Why didn't you tell me?" It hurts that he hasn't come to you for help. "Has she been bullying you a lot?"

"Not physically, after that. It's just, well, she sits beside me and she's not nice." He coos sadly. "None of them are."

You reach out to give him a calming rub on the head. 

"I'm glad you spoke up today," you say as he coos happily under your hand. "We'll find some way to make her stop."

* * *

 **Bonfire Night** approaches! How do you want to celebrate?

**▸ Invite someone out to watch fireworks.**  
▹ DRUNKEN VANDALISM!

Spending the night with someone you like seems like a good idea. Who knows what could happen!

**▸ Invite Mike**  
▹ Invite Sherlock  
▸ Invite Irene  
▹ Invite Molly  
▹ Invite Jim  
▹ Invite Lestrade

You decide to invite Mike. It's been too long since you've spent time with him outside of school.

* * *

You find Mike standing alone at the edge of the park. He flutters over when you call out to him. 

"You're in your jumper-and-trousers! They always look so good on you."

You smile down at him, pleased by his appreciation of the traditional out-of-uniform fashion of your people.

"How are you feeling?" you ask.

"I don't know." He scuffs at the dirt. "I heard there would be fireworks. Do you think they'll be very loud?"

"There are fireworks. They will be very loud."

"Oh." He sounds uncomfortable.

**▸ Offer to go somewhere else.**  
▹ Comfort him by telling him how beautiful the fireworks are going to be.

Apparently Mike still has issues with loud noises.

"We don't have to stay here. We can go anywhere. You haven't been to my cave recently. I've been decorating! Want to see?"

"Yes!" Mike perks up with a happy coo. "I'd like that."

You return home, showing off your cave with pride. You have furs to sleep on as well as rags, your garden is coming along nicely, and you're rather proud of the images you've been painting on the walls. Mike appreciates it all enthusiastically. 

"Have you heard anything from your mysterious benefactor?" you ask, gesturing for him to join you in sitting on your pile of rags and furs. 

"No." Mike settles in beside you. "Or, I don't know. There was a message telling me that joining the student council would help me learn important skills, but I don't know if that was from my benefactor or someone else. Did you get a message like that?" He hurries on before you can respond, "And I don't know. Maybe that's just the sort of vaguely encouraging message they send and it doesn't really mean anything."

**▸ It must mean something.**  
▹ It probably wasn't personal.

"I didn't get anything like that. Whether or not it's from your benefactor, it must be meaningful!"

"I don't know what skills I'm supposed to be learning. Whoever it's from, they're going to be disappointed."

"Nobirdie's going to be disappointed!" you insist. "You're capable of a lot more than you think. You should have more faith in yourself!"

"Thanks, John," Mike coos softly. "You're a good friend."

"I could be more." You lean toward him and press a quick kiss to his operculum. "If you want."

"I do want," Mike responds after a moment, shifting closer to you.

You've set the tone of the evening, and you're sure that Mike knows what you want. 

You want Mike, but you also want Mike to be active in his pursuit of your affections. You're sure that if anything in this world that can convince Mike to be more proactive, it is the promise of your passion.

Your relationship doesn't progress any further that night, but falling chastely asleep to the warmth of your more-than-friend's body as you lie together is more than you'd dared to hope for.

* * *

School is cancelled today. You discover this by arriving with Mike at a closed school with a notice attached to the front gate. Apparently there was an explosion last night, after you and Mike left the park! It seems that some birds were caught in the blast and died! Some of them were students and teachers. The names of the dead and injured are listed. Thankfully, nobirdie you know is named. 

What should you do with your day off? 

**▸ Attend a ceremony for the students and teachers who lost their lives.**  
▹ Take the opportunity to catch and cook some fresh game.

The notice describes a **Sharing of Memories Ceremony** held at a nearby park. Even though you don't have any memories of the dead birds to share, your presence will be appreciated at the ceremony.

"Let's go," you say, turning toward the park. It takes you several steps to notice that Mike isn't following you. 

You turn back to see him scratching at the ground. 

"I don't think I should," he tells you.

"Why not?"

"I thought... when I read that there had been an explosion I thought... maybe Christa and Nathan and Caleb were... maybe they'd been caught in the blast. I wasn't upset about it."

▹ "I wish they had been!"  
 **▸ "That's natural."**  
▹ "That's troubling."  
▹ "That's really messed up!"

"Is it?"

"Of course. They've been tormenting you. If they were dead, they would stop bothering you. I know you, Mike, it's not that you want them dead, it's that you want them to leave you alone."

"I suppose." Mike perks up. "Yes, you're right. Thank you. I feel better about thinking that now."

▹ Try to convince him to attend the ceremony.  
 **▸ Try to help him gain self-confidence by teaching him how to hunt.**

You take him to your favourite hunting ground, where the animals are plump and trusting. You tell him to watch as you catch your prey. 

When you've killed several small creatures of your own, you tell him to try. 

He is terrible at it. He doesn't make a single kill. Even so, the time spent with him is fun. 

He probably wouldn't say that he felt more confident after your day together, but as you watch him fly home, you believe there's a change in his bearing. He may not be practised enough to have caught anything, but you've taught him important skills that he can hone if he wants.

* * *

School reopens the next day. Perhaps it's a little subdued, but almost everything seems the same as usual. 

Sherlock and Irene are still using you to pass notes during class. You're getting better at illicit comment conveyance though, and catch almost all of Professor Lestrade's lecture!

* * *

Today's student council meeting is particularly memorable.

The argument starts when Christa enters, sees the fruit selection, and uses her wing to push it off the table. 

Caleb gasps dramatically as the assorted fruits roll across the floor.

"What good did that do?" Nathan demands. "Do you think you've proven a point?"

"Do you think you've proven a point? You let them decide what we should have. You listened to them over me! One of them doesn't even have feathers! Why would you do this to me, Nathan? Do you even realise how offensive that was?"

"Have you been dwelling on this? I wanted fruit. That's all."

"That's even worse! You made everyone think you cared about their opinions more than mine and it wasn't even intentional?!"

"Our opinions do matter," you tell her. "We are two-fifths of this council."

"Shut up!" Christa shrieks. "Nobirdie wants to hear from someone without feathers, or somebirdie who may as well not have them."

"Why are you always so mean?" Mike jumps in. "Do you think your plumage makes you better than other birds? Birds like you can't rely on your plumage; if you keep on like this, it's only a matter of time until someone plucks it all out!"

The other birds stare at him in silence.

"You can be suspended for threatening other students," Caleb says.

"No one made any threats. But would it be worse to miss some classes, or to have to go to them, plucked?" You clasp your hands together.

"We, err, we weren't trying to be mean," Christa tries with Mike. "I was only trying to bring you out of your shell."

▹ Disregard her blatant lie and make them pay for abusing your friend.  
 **▸ Let Mike decide how to respond.**  
▹ Encourage Mike to forgive them.

"I don't care what you were trying to do," Mike tells her. "I want you to stop. With me, and with John, and with anybirdie else."

"Yeah, fine. Sorry you can't take a joke," Nathan responds.

"And you can clean the room today," you add.

"Fine," Caleb responds.

The rest of the meeting isn't very productive. The other birds are frigid toward each other and to you, but the time passes in relative peace.

You head out with Mike. It feels good to leave the others to do the cleaning.

**▸ Congratulate Mike for standing up for himself.**  
▹ Tell Mike he was lucky the other birds didn't attack him.

"That was brilliant!" you cheer. "I'm so proud of you for finally telling them off!"

"I couldn't have done it without you." Mike coos happily.

"You don't have any plans for the holidays, do you?" you ask him, fairly sure you already know his orphan's answer.

"No, I'm not doing anything special."

"You could spend them with me, in my cave. It's not much, but it would be nice to be together."

"I'd like that," Mike tells you. "I'd like that a lot."

"Fantastic." You smile at him. 

"And Mike?" You lean over to kiss him lightly on the top of his head. "You have the sexiest plumage I have ever seen."

* * *

As hours turn into days and days turn into weeks, as the caterpillar becomes cocooned and transforms into a beautiful butterfly, so too does the academic submission upon the academic submission undergo a conversion to scholastic assessment report.

"You're doing well," Professor Lestrade tells you, "But you have the potential to do better."

You'll have to try harder for the rest of the year. Or lower the expectations people have of you. Whatever works for you.

* * *

The last day of class before **Winter Holidays** finally arrives. You find yourself walking down the corridor when your foot slides across the floor, taking the rest of you with it.

You look around, chagrined, to see whether anyone noticed your tumble. You are mercifully alone.

A little plastic rectangle lies on the ground. Upon examination, it turns out to be a student ID card. You've never seen the name on the card before and the pictured **Narragansett** is entirely unfamiliar.

**▸ The Narragansett's class and teacher are written on the card. You can return it yourself.**  
▹ Take the card to the Lost and Found in the Computer Library.  
▹ Leave the card where it is. 

The Narragansett's class is easy to find, and taking it there will help you keep fit! 

You manage to make it to the room just as the Narragansett's teacher is locking the classroom up for the holidays. 

"Thank you," she clucks softly as you hand it over, "but I'm not sure what good it can do him now."

Oh well. Even if nobirdie's grateful for the return, at least it's not left lying on the floor.

* * *

Spending the holidays with Mike is wonderful. He's a good friend, and a great companion, and now he's even more.

You've put out the fire and pulled him up onto your pile of rags and furs. He moves closer as you talk, and closer, until his feathers press against your side.

"I don't know how doves and humans can... well," he says, "but with you, I'd like to try."

**▸ You can make it work; love finds a way.**  
▹ You are fundamentally, biologically incompatible.

"I'd like that." You smile at him as he slips a wing under the hem of your shirt. "Let me take this off, and I'll show you what we can do."

Your attempt to disrobe is interrupted by the appearance of a massive **Cock**.

" **Blauqueur and Associates, Solicitors** ," he introduces himself, speaking to Mike. "I'm here on behalf of the **Dove Monarchy of Socorro Island**. The extinction of your species has left you the last living heir to the crown. You need to return to your kingdom."

"But I... I'm just an orphan," Mike coos uncertainly. "I can't become a king."

"Obviously you're an orphan," the cock responds. "That's why you're the last living heir."

"Oh, umm, right. Is this... is this to do with my mysterious benefactor?"

"What? Did you think any random orphan would have his tuition to _the_ London Elite Day Academy paid in full and be told to take leadership of the student council?"

"I, umm..." Mike shakes himself and turns to you. "Do you, do you think we should go?"

**▸ This sounds legitimate! You should definitely follow this cock.**  
▹ You can't go with Mike. Your place is here.

"Of course we should go! This is it, Mike, this is your destiny!"

"Yes, you can take your catamite with you. I'm glad you asked," the cock interjects. 

You leave with him, and follow the caustic cock to a new world of adventure. Or, at least, to a small island off the coast of Mexico. But to you, it is a small island of adventure!

There are humans there, humans living in peace with the birds, being one with the birds. The population may be small, but its existence is greater than you'd ever imagined. 

They accept Mike as king, the last of his kind, and they accept you at his side. Your mutual devotion grants you all forms of strength.

Mike reigns well as king, with you as his king-consort. Together, you bring a new era of interspecies love to the island, and to the world.

**Author's Note:**

> I am hoping to do an equivalent of the BBL Route, but I don't even have it fully plotted yet, so it will be a while before this updates again.
> 
> I hope you've had as much fun reading this as I've had writing it!


End file.
